And So It Begins
by Obstreperous Wookie
Summary: [Riley Adventure 6] Riley and Finn head to New York in search of Finn and Mika's father. But what happens when they learn of homeless people disappearing off the streets? Basic Riley/Finn shenanigans.
1. Together

A/N: This one is from Finn's point of view. Tell me if you hate it, and I will totally scrap the random tangent my brain went on. :)

P.S. If you haven't read my other stories, then this one probably won't make much sense...

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**FINN**

I'd been trying to reach Riley for the past four or five days, either getting sent straight to voicemail or only talking to whomever kept answering Riley's phone. I knew she was being hunted by vampires, which scared the crap out of me, and I knew she was purposefully screening my calls, which pissed the hell out of me. It wasn't a great combo. None of the nurses would even talk to me anymore.

So when Riley finally decided to stop stonewalling and actually call me, I picked up without hesitation. "Are you okay? Are you safe?" I demanded. "Where are you?"

There was silence on the other end, then, "I'm in Indiana. I found a job." Riley cleared her throat, stalling. "Remember when you told me not to do that thing?" she asked slowly. Oh thank God, she was fine. Something in my chest loosened, and I felt what seemed like a mountain of unease slide off my shoulders. She was okay. She was actually okay.

Pushing past the wild relief over her continued existence, I wracked my brain in an attempt to pinpoint the exact "thing" that she was referring to. I came up blank, but I wasn't about to let her know that. "Let me guess, you did the thing." I wasn't even surprised. Then I sighed, not wanting to even begin to imagine all the things she could be doing that I'd warned her against. "And please—tell me how that went, Riley?"

"Well, I haven't done it…yet. What kind of show do you think I'm running here?" She sounded slightly offended, and I relaxed a little. Then I heard a little hitch of breath from her. Oh no. That was patented Riley Stewart guilt. "What do you suppose the Indiana justice system's position is on first time residential breaking-and-entering offenders?" she asked casually.

I looked up at the ceiling, wondering where I'd gone so wrong. "Riley, why do you do this to me?" I asked, my voice pained.

"I do it because I care," she said sweetly, her tone ultimately promising shenanigans. "But first, what do you think?"

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my eyes. She wasn't a minor, but she had a clean record so far. "Maybe a warning," I said. "Unless they want to make an example of you. Then you might face some jail time."

"Ehhh, Imma risk it," she said cheerfully, and I heard a door creak open. Shrill beeping caught my attention. "Oh," Riley said, no longer cheerful. "She has a home security system. Is it the red wire I'm supposed to cut, or is it the blue? I never remember these things."

I gritted my teeth, panic shooting through me. "It's the black one," I snapped.

Riley was quiet for too long. "How inconvenient," she said. "They're all black." I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her. And she thought I was the reckless one.

The beeping went shrill, turning into a continuous stream of noise. "Oh no," she deadpanned, "the alarm went off. The police are probably on their way. How terrible." I heard a rustling and the creak of what sounded like furniture. Was she...was she sitting down?

"What the hell are you doing in Indiana?" I snarled, fear making my stomach hurt. I just wanted her safe. Wanted her here.

"I already told you. I found a job," she said back pleasantly. I was going to kill her. I was going to kill her the second I laid eyes on her.

"You're literally one state away, and you thought you'd just mosey in and take care of a monster before dropping by to see me? Is that it?" My anger was on the verge of forcing my throat into a tight knot.

"I'm not thrilled about the eventual face-to-face," Riley continued casually, sounding only half focused on our conversation. "I'm delaying the inevitable." Her words hit like an iron fist to the stomach, and for a second, I couldn't breathe.

"You don't...want to see me?" It came out a bare whisper, and I felt numb. She'd stayed, stayed longer than I could have ever hoped for. She'd stuck with me even when things had probably looked hopeless. And now that I was awake, was she simply cutting her losses and moving on?

"What?" Riley sounded confused. "What are you talking about? I stayed by your side for months, Finn. Months! But yeah, I'm totally dreading seeing you. That's must be it."

She snorted, plowing on without letting me get a word in edgewise."No, you idiot, I'm talking about seeing your psycho mom." Then she let out the breath. Her voice got softer, losing its sarcastic bite. "That errand I was doing for Jemma? I may have altered the details of the contract a teensy bit. Let's just say she's going to be royally pissed, and I'm not entirely sure she won't lose it altogether."

She sighed, sounding tired. "So excuse me if I don't want to deal with that just yet." I was about to reply when I heard faint sirens in the background. They got louder and louder, but with a tinny quality, and I heard another creak as Riley stood up. "I gotta go," she said quietly. "People to save, monsters to kill. Hey, did you know it takes an average of eight point two minutes for the Lafayette Police Department to send a squad car to check out a tripped burglar alarm?"

The sirens got louder across the phone, and I rubbed my forehead nervously. "Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to get yourself arrested?"

"We've only been talking for three minutes. There's a police car outside already. This lady has been on the first responder to the scenes of four different home invasions. All the victims were deceased through various methods, but they had one thing in common. Their pituitary glands had all been harvested before reaching the coroner's office."

"Pituitary glands?"

"Pituitary glands," she confirmed.

"Kitsune," I noted.

"Ding ding ding, somebody give the man a cookie," she said. "Straight shot to the heart, right?"

"With a knife," I told her. "It has to be a knife to the heart."

"Ten-four," she quipped. "Catch you on the flipside. Riley out."

"Ri—" I started, but the phone was already blinking "call ended." I fought the urge to fling it at the wall. God, that girl had the irritating ability to blast holes in my self-control until it was like swiss cheese. She drove me insane.

And yet, I couldn't wait to see her. Couldn't wait to talk to her face-to-face. Couldn't wait to spend time with her.

This was not how I imagined my life going. Not at all.

Of course, Riley had a way of waltzing in and kicking ordinary, day-to-day life in the face. It was kind of her thing, I'd gathered.

She was turning my life on its head. And I kind of liked it.

So I could wait one more day to see her. She was worth it.

One day passed. The next dragged by with maddening slowness. By the third, I was going practically insane. The nurses refused to even come into my room, except by necessity. Even Trixie, who I'd gathered was Riley's friend, didn't come in very often.

I sat up whenever I had the energy, practicing small core movements and exercising muscles I hadn't used in months. My stomach had four long gashes across it. They were long since healed, but sometimes they twinged. Wendigo. Riley had killed it. I didn't remember that part, but I remembered her driving the boat away from the island, trying to get me to a hospital. Clearly, she'd succeeded.

I sighed, settling back against the pillows, turning on the TV in a fit of boredom. And when Riley finally walked into my hospital room, I almost missed it.

She arrived silently, ghosting into the room with none of her usual fanfare. She moved stiffly, but silently nonetheless.

The room was empty. Then it wasn't.

And she stood there, perfectly quiet and motionless as she stared at me.

"Hi," I said softly, not quite sure what to make of this new silence.

"Hi," she said back, a small smile spreading across her face. It didn't last long, and it wasn't her usual goofy grin, but then I hardly expected it to be. I'd nearly died. I didn't expect her to just bounce back from that.

That wasn't just it, though. She looked different. A faded bruise stood out across one pale cheekbone, and I could see a hint of a bandage under the collar of her blue hoodie. Her face was harder, too. I couldn't put my finger on it, but she just seemed...off.

"How are you?" I asked cautiously, watching her carefully.

She shrugged, seemingly untroubled, and that's when it hit me. She was literally giving nothing away. No cheeky grin, no sparkling eyes, nothing. No fear, no anger. Riley, a girl who could communicate half a dozen different things with a single look, was currently being about as expressive as a rock.

"Are you okay?" I asked, alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she returned calmly. I didn't know how to respond to that, if there even _was_ a correct response. It felt like a loaded question, so I elected to remain silent.

After a minute, I cleared my throat. "I missed you," I said earnestly.

And that was it. That's all it took. Riley softened—visibly softened. Her shoulders slumped into a more comfortable slouch, and she dropped into the chair beside the bed, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them. "Long week," she said with a soft sigh. There was an indirect apology in those words. I knew her well enough to hear it.

I nodded. "I'm getting out of here tomorrow."

"Cool," she said, but that was it. She was back in "rock" mode.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to figure out why she was being like this. Finally, because I was coming up blank, I said the first thing to come to mind. "So you met my mother."

"Yes, I did." Her face was neutral, but her eyes went flat, and that scared me more than her rock impression and monosyllables. One of the things I loved about Riley was her eyes. They were hazel, flecked with gold, and in the right light, they came to life. When she was happy, they sparkled. When she was mad, they sparked. When she saw coffee or bacon, they lit up.

Right now, they were cold and flat in a way I'd never seen before.

"Ri, what happened? What did she do?" My mother. God, I could write a book on her and still never really understand her. We didn't talk anymore, and for good reason. She'd raised me as Hunter in a borderline emotionally and verbally abusive lifestyle, and I'd never forgiven her for ruining any chance for a normal life. I'd left her the day I was eighteen and had never gone back.

Even free of her, though, I'd been a bitter, lost kid back then. I'd had no friends, no family, no life outside of Hunting. I'd spent most of my nights drunk and angry. In fact, I'd given up any hope for any actual relationships, thinking those too were ruined by my stunted ability to connect to others.

Years had gone by, and I'd lost the bitter edge, stopped drinking so much. I'd turned back to Hunting, because I was good at it. I'd even managed to convince myself that I was happy.

Then I'd met Riley. The first time I'd seen her, I'd written her off as a blonde ditz. The Texan drawl, the pigtail braids. Then I'd discovered that not only was she a Hunter, but a damn good one. Somehow, even being new, she'd kept one step ahead of me for the entire hunt. And she'd done it in what I now knew was her completely unintimidated, caustic self.

Back then it'd rankled me, but now I loved that about her. She was smart, and she had great instincts. What she didn't know, she made up for with sheer spunk and skills.

Riley was a Hunter. I liked Hunting, and I liked Riley. It just seemed so weirdly perfect. Meeting Riley was definitely the best thing that'd happened to me in years, and now…

If that woman had messed this up for me, too, I was going to kill her.

"What did she do, Riley?" I grated out, feeling the familiar bitterness start to burn in my stomach like bile. My mother was manipulative and venomous, staining everything she touched like a cancer. She was everything Riley wasn't.

A scary thought occurred to me, and I went cold. "What did she _say_, Ri?" I could easily imagine a dozen different scenarios where my mother threatened Riley. There was nothing that woman wouldn't do.

Riley gazed at me with solemn eyes. They were more green than hazel right now, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in them. "Your father isn't dead," she said, chewing on her lip slightly.

I forgot how to breath for a second, reeling at the thought. "She said that?" I asked slowly, disbelief creeping in.

"No." Riley chewed on her lip some more, a sure sign that she was waging an enormous mental battle with herself, still watching me. Even looking at me, though, she wasn't really seeing me, lost somewhere inside her own head. "Your sister told me."

"I don't have a sister," I said automatically, feeling numb.

"Yeah. Just like you don't have a dad," she pointed out, tucking her hands under her chin.

"What are you saying?" I demanded, my head spinning.

Riley sat up, fire coming into her eyes. "I just spent the week slaughtering a nest of vampires. They had your sister. I took her, and then I had to kill the nine vampires that came to get her back. She's…" Riley waved a hand around helplessly, searching for the words. "She's psychic, Finn. Her dad...your dad...lives in New York somewhere. Mika said she ran away to find him."

Psychic? Father? What the Hell. I lay there silently, submersing into my own thoughts. This reeked of my mother, though, from start to finish. I trusted Riley. If she said I had a sister, then I did. That I had a father out there somewhere was an uncomfortable thought, but I still believed it nonetheless. Still, holy shit.

Riley stayed with me, and the hands on the clock crept forwards unceasingly. The lights on the floor turned off room by room. The nurses walked through, shooing off lingering visitors. No one even bothered trying to make Riley leave.

I thought about what she'd said until my brain hurt. Then I gave up and forced myself to go to sleep. "Hey, Ri?" I posed quietly. There was no response. I glanced over, realizing that she was completely out of it. "See you tomorrow," I said with a sigh. But at the same time, there was a warmth in my chest. She was here, and she was safe. Things were good again. I closed my eyes, blocking out the hospital noises, and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was more than ready to get out of this hospital. Turning my head to the left, I sought out Riley with growing unease. But there she was, slumped fast asleep in the chair. My anxiety faded as I studied her. It couldn't have been comfortable, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

I eased my feet over the edge of the bed, taking things slow in order to not overtax myself and also not to wake Riley. She didn't even stir. There was a plastic bag beside her, and a cursory glance revealed mens' clothing. Damn, she was the best. I drew the items out, quietly getting dressed. Buttoning the last button on the plaid shirt, I ducking my head a little, trying to get a glance of Riley's face. Normally, she was a light sleeper. That she hadn't even twitched yet was an indication of how truly exhausted she must be.

More than ever, I wanted to know what had gone down during the last week.

There was a thin binder on her lap, nested under one limp arm. I eased it out curiously, wondering what it was for. Flipping it open, my eyebrows shot up. In typical Riley fashion, it was a detailed catalogue of the supernatural. Spirits, changelings, wendigos, vampires—they were all there under neatly labeled tabs. I skipped to the vampire section, noting how it was the thickest. Once there, my stomach twisted.

She was detailed and methodical. She had their strengths, their weaknesses. She had a sketch of their extra set of teeth. Methods of disposal, hunting patterns and what to look for. Dead man's blood. She had everything. It was thorough and clinical, which it both worried and impressed me. I closed the binder, setting it back in her lap. Then I shook her shoulder slightly. "Ri, wake up," I said softly. Nothing. "Ri," I repeated, louder this time.

She exploded into action. One hand flashed out, shoving me away as she shot up. The binder dropped to the floor with a slap as she did, and out of nowhere, there was a big-ass knife in her hand.

"Woah, woah. It's just me. Just me," I said quickly, showing her my hands. Riley stared at me unblinkingly, breathing hard. Then her knife lowered, dipping behind her back and disappearing into what I guessed was a belt sheath.

She scrubbed a hand over her face, bending down and picking up the binder. Then she noticed the clothes I was wearing. A small grin eked across her face. "Ready to go, then?" she asked, voice still rough with sleep.

That was it. No apology, no explanation. The old Riley would have been falling all over herself to apologize and probably blushing up a storm the whole time. It was weird. Not bad, necessarily, just...different.

"Just have to fill out the paperwork, then we're out of here," I confirmed.

The paperwork didn't take very long. Riley waited patiently by my side as I signed myself out. I don't think the floor nurses were sad to see me go. Trixie came by and hugged Riley. They talked in hushed tones for a few minutes, their heads bent together. Then they said their goodbyes, and Riley walked out with me, her face as cool and blank as I'd ever seen it.

It was so different from her cheerful banter on the phone that I was once again forced to consider what my mother could have said to her. But the farther we got from the hospital, the looser Riley got.

It was dark outside, winter hours having cut the sunlight short. I followed Riley to her car, wondering vaguely where my stuff was. I didn't ask her, though. I didn't want to break the quiet peace between us.

By the time we walked into a motel room, Riley almost seemed to be herself. Tossing her bag on the floor, she sat on the edge of the bed. I sat opposite of her, on the edge of my bed. We looked at each other for a long minute, just breathing. "Hey," I said softly.

A little smile grew. "Hey," she said back, just as softly. She put her hand up and I pushed my palm against it, lacing our fingers together. Hers were cold and banged up, mine were long and scarred. "I'm glad you're awake," she admitted.

"I'm glad you're not dead," I admitted, just as candidly. That made her grin, actually grin. Then she freed her hand and lay back on the bed, folding her hands over her stomach. She squinted at the ceiling, like the light was too bright, and I eased upwards, flipping the switch to turn it off. Then I lay back on my bed, wondering what was going through her mind right now.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, finally working up enough courage to just ask.

She laughed softly, in that quiet, thoughtful way of hers. I turned my head and stared at her dark form, taking in the curve of her mouth and nose in the darkness. She was beautiful, and she didn't even know it. Here we were, lying only two feet apart, but it might as well have been miles.

I pulled my eyes off her and looked up at the ceiling. "What's so funny?"

She sighed. "I was thinking about you asking me out over the phone."

I winced. "Yeah. Not my brightest moment."

"I don't know how to be a girlfriend," she said with just a tinge of nervousness.

"I suppose you could start by cooking me something," I replied thoughtfully. I'd seen Riley try and cook. It was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. She could make pancakes and bacon, but that was about it. Anything more complicated usually ended up black or unrecognizable. "Maybe giving me a shoulder massage. Clean my motel room."

She laughed again, which made my chest warm up. I loved that sound. It was authentic and soft and just so Riley. "Mh-hmm," she said. "And you might as well just give me full access to your wallet, because I need to go shopping for shoes and stuff."

We fell into an easy silence, and it was quiet for long enough that I wondered if she'd fallen asleep. If the bags under her eyes were any indication, then she could definitely use it. But after another minute, she snorted softly. "Do you think we should get matching tattoos?" she proposed.

It was my turn to laugh. "I think that comes after our relationship montage. You know, laughing in the rain. Snuggling on the couch together. All the quirky relationship stuff in the movies." Then I hesitated, becoming serious. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Riley turned her head to me, light reflecting off her teeth as she smiled. "Always," she answered.

"You're my first girlfriend. I don't...I've never had success with the whole relationship thing." I waited, and she turned her face back up towards the ceiling.

"Me neither," she said finally. "I guess we'll figure it out together then?"

"Together," I confirmed.


	2. Albany

Disclaimer: Winchesters and Bobby Singer are not my characters.

A/N: So sorry, y'all. I got accepted into Nursing school, so things have been crazy. I honestly don't know if updates will be regular anymore. *cringe*

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**FINN**

Riley's phone rang, jolting me into consciousness. The day's sun trickled through the cheap motel curtains, but I kept my eyes closed. It had been a bad idea turning the lights off last night, because after our conversation, Riley and I had pretty much just fallen asleep where we lay. And my body had no qualms about letting me know just how bad that idea had been.

Across from me, Riley stirred a little. A second later, her hand shot out and snagged the ringing phone off the nightstand. "Sam, hey, thanks for calling," she mumbled softly, probably trying to not wake me up. Her back was to me, phone cradled against her ear, and she laughed quietly. "What? No, everything is fine. No amnesia, no vampires. I did take out a kitsune, though. Those suckers fight dirty!"

I wondered if that was how she got the bruise on her cheekbone. Probably not. It looked too faded to be recent. Riley laughed again. "Finn? No, you can't talk to him!" There was a pause. "Because he's still sleeping. So there." Another pause. Then she drew in a sharp breath. "Oh my gosh, Sam, stop! Stop, stop, stop. Ew! I am _not_ getting that talk from you. My mom already covered those bases when I was, like...twelve. Sam, stop!"

She sounded mortified, and I didn't even have to guess what he was trying to tell her. But what did confuse me was the fact that _he_ was telling her. Since when was Riley on a familiar enough basis with Sam Winchester that he was giving her the "birds and bees, use protection" talk?

There was a long silence, and then Riley broke it with a low, snorted chuckle. It was hardly a dignified sound, but it was totally a Riley sound. "Wow, totally did not see that one coming," she said, still kind of laughing. "Thanks for looking out for me, I guess. Anyways, do you know where I should start? Looking, I mean. I don't have much experience with missing persons cases."

Sam said something on the other end. I could hear the buzzing voice but couldn't make out any of the words. Riley listened patiently, murmuring affirmatives every so often. Then she thanked him and hung up.

I waited for a second, and she rolled over just enough to peek at me.

I stared back at her.

"Oh. You're awake," she said in a tiny voice.

"Yeah," I said darkly, not liking being so out of the loop.

She looked a little hesitant over my tone, but then she shrugged. "Want to go to the gym and spar with me?"

I blinked, not having seen that coming. Then I grinned, because yes, I really, really did.

A few hours later, I was regretting my decision most profoundly.

Everything hurt.

I guess, in thinking about it, that shouldn't have been surprising. Twelve or so weeks in a coma was enough to pare down my muscles into the bare minimum of functional. When Riley and I had gone to the gym, trying to get me back up to speed, I might have overdone it.

Not being built like a slab of rock, I usually kept myself pretty toned and quick. I was fast, maybe not as fast as Riley, but I was also strong. It was the best I could do with my generally wiry physique. My version of fighting was pushing myself to the limit and honing every part of me that would give me an advantage—hit hard, hit fast, take 'em down.

Riley's version of fighting was dancing around inflicting as much damage as possible and generally running her opponents into the ground while she looked on cheerfully. Which is why everything hurt right now. She didn't even really have a fighting style so much as a brawler's enthusiasm and a can-do attitude. It was a lethal combination, which meant that I would definitely be thinking twice before climbing back into the ring with her.

The bathroom door opened, and Riley walked out, toweling her hair dry. She was wearing a t-shirt that clung to all the right places, but that wasn't what caught my eyes. One of her arms was bruised almost beyond belief. The bruises were old and faded, but they were still a grim reminder of what had been. The other forearm sported a bandage wrap, and I almost didn't want to know what was under it. Furthermore, the bandage I had seen peeking out past the neckline of her hoodie was gone, revealing the faint remains of a bite mark.

My chest tightened with anger, but I kept it off my face. What's done was done. Riley wouldn't appreciate my post-incident reaction, so I'd just keep it to myself. Instead, I settled onto my bed with a groan, all my muscles protesting.

She sat down beside me on the end of the bed, towel held loosely in her hands. "Finn?" she asked quietly after a moment.

"Hmm?" I murmured, wondering what was going on in her head.

She was silent for another long moment before clearing her throat. "Jemma. She threatened to hurt my family if I didn't tell her where Mika was. Do you think she'd really do it?"

I knew it. My mother _had_ threatened Riley. "I don't know," I said honestly. Because I didn't. I didn't know if Jemma would stoop so low was to hurt innocent people. But then again, I also didn't know all the secrets she'd been keeping from me. Even so, assuming she _was_ willing to follow through, she'd definitely go about it in a specific way.

"If she was willing to hurt your family, she wouldn't do it right now. Jemma is probably trying to track down Mika. If she doesn't find her, then she'll come threaten you again. Then, and only then, will she maybe follow through on her threat." God, I wished I could tell her that her family would be safe. That my mother wasn't truly psychotic. But I couldn't. I really couldn't.

Riley slumped and let out a little hitched breath, so I hurried to tell her the good part of the equation. "I'm here, though, Ri. She'll think twice about threatening you if I'm with you. And believe me, I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Riley sighed and fell back beside me, both of us staring up at the ceiling.

Her phone rang, and I rolled my head to the side, watching her. She didn't move. Her blank, thoughtful gaze at the ceiling didn't waver, and she made no indication that she even cared or heard that her phone was going off. I levered myself upright with a low groan and leaned over to the nightstand, checking the phone's screen. Bobby Singer was calling. I fell back again, dragging the phone with me as I went.

Bobby Singer. I didn't know very much about him, but I'd heard that he was a rock-solid source of intel. You needed to know something, he'd get it done. How Riley even had his number was beyond me.

"Riley's phone," I answered. Riley blinked at me, unfazed. Then, very slowly, she reached out her hand. I rolled my eyes and turned away.

"This ain't Riley," Bobby said gruffly.

"Riley's indisposed at the moment," I replied. "Can I take a message?"

There was a pause, then, "She still want information on New York?" I went cold. Riley was asking about New York. She'd said my father was in New York somewhere, and she'd gone to Bobby, of all people, to find out where.

"Did you find him?" I asked, my tone suddenly flat.

"Not yet," Bobby said shortly. "Found a job, though. Seems right up her alley."

"Riley doesn't have an alley," I said coldly, not liking his initiative.

He snorted. "Boy, Riley up and made her own alley when no one was looking. I don't like it, but she's good. Does she want it or not?"

"Sure," I said coolly, irked by his patronizing tone. "We'll check it out."

"Albany," he said, "People are disappearing. Not angels, not demons. Don't know what it is yet."

"Got it," I said, disconnecting the call and tossing the phone aside. Then I glared at Riley. "You're looking for my father." Her hazel eyes blinked slowly up at me, completely unaffected. "You have no right," I snapped.

"I promised Mika I would find him," she said calmly. "I have every right."

I narrowed my eyes, still mad, when something occurred to me. Her conversation with Sam made sense now. She'd been talking about searching for missing persons. God, everyone was involved except me.

"Bobby has a case in Albany," I gritted out.

"Great," she said evenly, "we'll check it out. We'll take my car, but you can drive if you want to."

"Fine," I snarked.

"Fine," she sniped back.

I turned and stomped into the bathroom, knowing I had to shower before we spent multiple hours together in an enclosed space.

We took Riley's car, because mine was still MIA since the wendigo incident. I climbed in the driver side, starting the engine, and Riley dragged herself into the passenger seat. She barely had enough energy to toss her bag in the backseat, and it made me wonder if maybe she overdid it in the gym, too.

Barely half an hour into the drive, I had my answer. Riley basically just tipped over against the car door and fell asleep. I turned the music down, giving her a perplexed glare. She riled me up in ways I didn't understand, yet looking at her now, I just felt the overwhelming desire to keep her safe from anything and everything. It was maddening, these new feelings. I couldn't keep up.

Riley slept. And slept. And slept. I thought about waking her, but the bags under her eyes and her general unhealthy appearance persuaded me not to. Whatever had gone down this past week had to have been brutal for her to be this exhausted and out of it.

In fact, it wasn't until we reached the Ohio-Pennsylvania border that Riley jerked awake. I didn't miss the hand that went straight for her knife, but instead of jumping in and trying to calm her down, I just rode it out, remaining neutral as she slowly pulled herself together. I couldn't stop myself, though, from asking the question that had been burning in my brain for the past couple hundred miles.

"What happened?"

I posed it simply enough, knowing she would need no other clarification to understand what I wanted to know. And I tried to say it in what I hoped was a thoroughly undemanding tone.

She glanced at me, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her eyes got kind of distant. "You know vampires," she said quietly. "They hunt you down like dogs after a rabbit."

I grimaced, knowing vampires did exactly that once they had a scent. I'd only run into a vampire one time, and it had gotten pretty hairy facing him alone, which led me to my next inquiry. "How many were there?"

Riley turned and looked out the window. I could see her practically rearranging her face to remain impassive. When she got it under control, she faced forward again. "Nine," she said softly. "There were nine."

"You killed nine vampires?" I was astounded. Even by experienced Hunter standards, that was high. I was both wildly impressed and slightly horrified.

"I killed eight. Sam Winchester killed the last one." She said it with perfect calm, but her voice hitched a little on the last word.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, worriedly. Riley, despite having chosen the Hunting lifestyle, absolutely did not like killing things. When I'd first met her, she'd been unable to kill the scumbag serial killer controlling a spirit. Clearly she didn't have that problem anymore, but that didn't mean that she was over her intense dislike. I could only imagine what the past couple of weeks had been like for her.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. And I meant it. Riley had faced down nine vampires. For me. None of that would have happened if Jemma hadn't approached her.

Riley shrugged, her tightly pressed lips trembling dangerously. Oh crap. I did not want to see her cry. I could not handle crying female. So, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Was it worth it?" I asked desperately.

Riley froze. Then her face scrunched almost comically, and her mouth moved silently, like she couldn't even comprehend the question. "Was it…" Riley trailed off, seemingly bewildered. "You're awake, and Mika's safe. Of course it was worth it." She scoffed, like the very question was offensive, and I wanted to rejoice that the potential tears had been headed off at the pass.

Still, her mention of Mika stirred up the mess inside my head. I stewed it over, and after a moment, I couldn't help myself. "What's Mika like?"

Riley settled lower in her seat, laying her arm along the door and resting the side of her head against it. This little smile twitched to life on her face, and she gave a tiny, happy snort. "She looks just like you. Fourteen, almost as tall as me. She's smart and thoughtful. She loves to read. God, Finn, she's so sweet. But she can be feisty and strong, too. She's just...perfect."

I glanced over at her. "Sounds a lot like a girl I know."

Riley looked up at me, surprise coloring her face. Then she got it and rolled her eyes with a grin. A second later, she straightened, her mirth fading. "She's _good_, Finn. Mika has such a big heart, and she just...she just cares so dang much about everything. Even Jemma can't ruin that. There's so much kindness in Mika, it just kind of leaks out. Not even kidding."

I took a chance, reaching over slowly so as not to startle her, and poked a finger into her side. "Still sounds a lot like a girl I know." Riley snorted, staring out the window in quiet dismissal of the idea, but the tiny smile was back, and that was something.

We rode in silence from then on, and Riley fell asleep again, though not before I made her drink some water. I looked over at her every now and again. She looked peaceful, less on edge. The hard set of her face had softened, but I knew it wouldn't last. It made me wonder how long it would take before Riley would lose the hypervigilance, the reflexive knife grabs, and the cool detachment.

The bizarre urge to just wrap her in my arms hit, and I stared out over the freeway, perplexed and not sure I liked these new feelings. I shook off the urge, knowing it was impractical in a moving vehicle, and noted the mileage to Albany, New York as stated on the signs. It was at least another four hours away, which left me with a car full of silence and dark thoughts.

Riley slept the entire rest of the way to Albany, and when we got a motel room, she crawled right into bed and went still. It worried me, so I checked her temperature and forced some more fluids into her before she fell asleep. Normally, Riley would have told me to shove it, but I think she was so tired she just went along with it placidly. That was probably what scared me the most.

I paced around the room after she'd fallen asleep again, not knowing what to do. I wasn't really used to taking care of someone other than myself.

Eventually, I clicked the light off and laid down on the other bed. My muscles protested as I did, but then I relaxed, feeling like maybe I was going to put down roots after my long day. Before I knew it, I was out.

Six o'clock rolled around before I was ready, but it was like a switch flipped in my brain, and I was instantly awake. Riley, not so much.

I got up, grabbing my duffel before heading to the bathroom. In front of the mirror, I sniffed and rubbed a hand across my jaw. The extended hospital stay had not been kind. I was sporting a bushy, reddish scruff despite my blonde hair, and it made me look like a wild man. It was a miracle Riley even recognized or went out in public with me.

I scowled, dismissing my reflection as I unpacked my shaving kit from my duffel. I was more of a "five o'clock shadow" guy than a full on "Bram Stoker," anyway. After shaving the scruff with practiced expediency, I pulled a meticulously folded suit and tie out of my duffel. Then I flipped through my stack of fake ID's, pulling my FBI badge out of the mix. Coincidentally, it was the same one I'd used when questioning Riley in Shoreline.

Riley, of course, would never pass for an FBI special agent. She was too young looking, too cheerful. Which was why I'd made her an intern badge all those weeks ago. That way, she could just tag along with me, looking very much so like the still new, "untouched by the job's taint" intern.

Pulling the suit jacket on, I cinched on the tie and ran a hand through my hair. I was passable, just like the dozens of other times I'd impersonated a federal officer. Now I only lacked one thing: my intern.

When I opened the bathroom door, I was relieved to see Riley peering out of the muddle of blankets. Only her eyes and nose were visible, but at least she was awake. "Morning," I said carefully. "I was thinking we could check out some of the disappearance sites today. What do you say?"

All I got for my efforts was a noncommittal grunt. I frowned, tapping my thumb against the doorjamb. "I'm going to run out and get coffee, 'kay?" I informed her, deeming caffeine a wise investment. Besides, I kind of liked the dopey look Riley always got when she first encountered coffee in the morning.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back with two hot cups. Riley, however, still hadn't moved.

"Ri, come on. Let's go already," I called to the fetal-positioned lump on the bed. "I have coffee," I wheedled, thinking it would help. It didn't. Not so much as twitch from her.

"I can't go out," came a muffled announcement. "I'm dying." Alarm ricocheted through me for a second. Was she injured? She'd seemed fine at the gym.

"What's wrong? How can I help?" I half-demanded.

There was silence, then a feeble reply. "Maybe just pick up some chocolate or ice cream on your way back?"

I frowned. Chocolate? Ice cream? What?

Oh.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

I was not prepared to deal with this.

I shifted from foot to foot, not entirely comfortable with even thinking about stuff like this. Crap. I had no prior experience with this. It was always kind of a non-issue with my mother. "Can't you just, I don't know, power through it?" I asked, testing the waters.

Gold flecked eyes glared balefully out of the cocoon of blankets. "No uterus, no opinion," came the crabby reply.

I rubbed the back of my neck. Chocolate it was, then. "I'll be back...later," I said weakly. Then I hightailed it out of there before she could ask me to pick up anything else besides chocolate.


	3. Shenanigans

Disclaimer: Winchesters and Bobby Singer are not my characters.

A/N: *rubs hands gleefully together* PLOT TWIST! Heehee, enjoy. Also, the POV shifts from the last few chapters. Haven't tried that before. Tell me if it's too weird? Sorry for any grammar mistakes. It's late, but I was too excited and posted the chapter anyways. I'll come back and fix it 'em. Thanks for reading, y'all!

* * *

**Riley**

As soon as Finn was gone, I flung off the blankets and dialed Bobby's number with flying fingers. It was true that I had some gnarly cramps today, but life had never once paused for one moping Stewart, and I doubted it was going to start now.

Bobby picked up on the third ring. "Whatcha got for me?" I breathed into the phone, the sheer subterfuge of going behind Finn's back making me breathless and more than a little guilty.

"'Bout time you called," Bobby grunted. There was a scraping noise and a small clink. Oops, it sounded like he was eating breakfast. Before I could say anything, he went on. "There are only two true psychics in New York, and one's a woman, which makes things simple. Your guy works for a private contractor named Rick Kuebel. Most I can tell, Kuebel is ex-navy. Hardass, gets the job done. Arthur Sanford is the psychic. He's the brains. Rick is the brawn." Bobby paused then continued, sounding cautious, "They own an office somewhere in the northern district of Springfield. Couldn't find the address. They're by referral only."

Arthur Sanford, North district of Springfield. I could work with that. I blew out a breath before chewing on my lip. "Thanks, Bobby. You're the best."

He muttered a gruff, obligatory "Yeah, well, I wasn't that busy anyway," and then paused again, almost like he wanted to say something else.

I waited patiently—for maybe three seconds—before I cleared my throat. "I'm okay," I offered tentatively, wondering if this was yet another bizarre episode of me somehow provoking the male protective instinct. Sam, Dean, Finn, Bobby… Don't ask me where it comes from or why they seem to think I deserve it. It just kind of happens.

"Be careful," he said, his tone darker than before. Then the line went dead, leaving me frowning at the blank screen.

"Men," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the bed as I got dressed in clothes that weren't so tired and sad. After pulling a brush through my hair and braiding it down over one shoulder, I searched for my Converse, which always seemed to disappear. "Gotcha," I muttered, fishing one out from under the bed. I hopped around on one foot, pulling the errent shoe on, before spotting a splash of yellow under the table. Snagging the other shoe and popping it onto my other foot, I snagged my black peacoat off the chairback and grabbed my canvas messenger bag.

Finn had my car, which meant I was going to have to take the bus today. That wasn't so bad, though. I'd just take my sketchbook with me and use it to pass the time.

Thirty minutes later, I was tucked into a comfy bus seat with a charcoal pencil twirling between my fingers. I tapped it against my lip, leaning my head against the window as the condensation grew. There was snow outside, drifting down in solitary flakes. It was pretty, yet I didn't find the usual joy that snow brought.

I sniffed, feeling the cold against my cheek, and my eyes fluttered shut, just for a second. Out of the blue, inspiration hit like a tide. Flipping the sketchbook open, I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and began to draw.

I was almost depressed when I got off the bus.

My breath billowed out in front of me in a steamy cloud, and I frowned down at my charcoal smeared hand holding my sketchbook. What had started out as half a dozen sweet little sketches—mostly candid moments of Mika and Finn that I'd mentally captured—had morphed into something darker.

My pencil had skated across the paper, shading in dark puddles of blood in the midst of even darker moments. I had inadvertently unleashed a feverish mental highlight reel of the worst happening of the past few weeks. Blood, vampires, graves, machetes. It was horrid. Yet it had flowed from my brain like water—a chronicle of all the grisly moments my brain was stuck replaying over and over again. Snapshots and memories I would gladly live without. But they were mine now.

I could've made myself stop, could have forced myself to think about something else, but I hadn't even tried. Sitting there on that bus and getting those images out of my brain and onto paper, I had figured, was a kind of therapy in and of itself. I would never be able to just talk about what had happened, would never be able to visit a therapist like a normal person might. So the best I could do was to deal with what had happened by drawing it, and then maybe that would help my brain move on and stop playing me the gruesome highlight reel every time I closed my eyes.

Which was why my sketchbook was now the storyboard from hell. No joke. They could totally make a horror movie out of the contents. I just hoped no one saw it and thought it was my cry for help.

Flipping back the flap on my canvas messenger bag, I stuffed the sketchbook and charcoal pencil inside, pulling out a pair of gloves in return. Shoving my hands inside the warmth, I clapped them together and blew warm air onto my curled fingers. Then I shoved a fly-away strand of hair out of my face and began walking.

I was not going to think about being covered in blood. I was not going to remember what it felt like when the machete severed the heads of the vampires. Nope, I was not thinking about that at all. I was just going to focus on the task at hand.

On my phone, I had a map of the northern district of Springfield. I pulled it up, trying to work out a game plan.

There were only twenty-three main blocks with businesses on them, but according to the bus schedule, I had four hours to canvas the entire area. I wasn't all that hopeful, but I had an ace up my sleeve. There might be a psychic hidden somewhere in Springfield, but I had a psychic too. And sometimes, she was darn useful.

Case in point. By the time I called Mika, I had been wandering up down the blocks for two and a half hours and had not found any such shop proclaiming employment of Arthur Sanford or Rick Kuebel. I was running short on time, patience, and altruism. I was cold, and I was annoyed. In spite of that, when I called Mika, I shoved my annoyance down into a deep dark pit and worked up a passably normal tone.

Mika's phone went to voicemail, which I kind of felt was better anyways. I didn't know what I would to say to her if she started bombarding me with questions. When the beep sounded, I left what I hoped to be a reasonably intelligible message. "Hi, Mika, this is Riley. I just wanted to call and...I don't know...find out if you could like think about me and get your juju working. I need a little help finding someone. So if you, you know, see anything just...um...call me. Okay, yeah. That's all. Hope you're doing well. I'm going to hang up now. Okay. Bye."

I hung up feeling stupid and awkward. Why the heck did I even think that would work? With an enormous sigh, I trudged onwards, crossing off streets as I cleared them.

Mika, being the scarily talented little psychic that she was, called me back with forty minutes to spare. I came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, clenching and unclenching my fists as I did my best to fend of my roiling nervousness and anxiety. "Hi," I said thickly, working to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"Walk to the end of the block and turn left," Mika responded shakily. Then the call ended, leaving me wildly curious as to what she had seen. I hoped it hadn't been bad. Judging from her voice, it had been, which was totally my luck. Ask a psychic a favor and completely ruin her day. Typical Riley.

Jogging to the end of my current block, I turned left and stared at the building on the corner. It was nondescript, brick, and entirely too ordinary to merit more than a half-glance. Which is why I stared at it with uncontained prejudice and suspicion.

I walked slowly, taking deliberately studious steps, until I came to the single door for the building. The glass door itself was recessed, hidden a good two-and-a-half feet back from the sidewalk. It would have been easy to right walk past. But there, written in white letters on the top half of the door, were the words I had been looking for the entire morning.

"Rick Kuebel, private investigator," I read under my breath. There was no mention of Mika and Finn's father, but I hardly expected there to be a "Psychics R Us" sign slapped on the window.

My breath billowed up in a cloud of steam in front of me as I chewed on my lip and studied the door. Finn's dad could be in there. I could be totally and irrevocably messing up his life sometime in the next five minutes. I let out a long breath, wondering if this whole thing was a big mistake. But no, he deserved to know. And I had promised Mika I would find him. I had to at least finish the job. "Arthur Sanford, I hope you're freakin' worth it," I muttered, pushing against the metal bar on the door.

It swung open easily, but there was no bell or alert to state my presence. I guess I didn't really need one. The shop was small. It wasn't even a shop, really. It was more of an office space.

I wiped my feet on the rug and walked towards the desk on the left. There was a computer on one half of the desk, and a man sat behind it. His feet, clad in two dark combat boots, were crossed neatly on the corner, and he was leaning back in his chair, a battered novel in his hands. He didn't even look up when I walked in, which made me wonder how he even got any customers with service like that.

But I got it. He was waiting for me to make the first move. It was smart, really. It put me a little off guard. Or it would have, at least, had I not just spent my last few weeks being toyed with by a psychotic monster and literally getting away with murder. At this point, I was beyond simple intimidation.

So I just studied him. His body was loose and relaxed, but I wasn't fooled. He had the same predatory air that Sam and Dean got sometimes, right before they got out of the car to kill something. Deceptively easygoing but completely ready for action.

This was Rick, then. He practically screamed "bad-ass military macho man."

After a good thirty seconds of silence, Rick set the book down and swung his feet off the desk with astounding grace and hardly a sound. Definitely military. His fingers steepled on his desk, and he returned my stare, blatantly studying me as I had just done.

I don't know what he saw in me, but his hand reached under his desk with alarming alacrity. I didn't have to think too hard to know what he was going for under the wood barrier. In fact, I didn't have to think about it at all, because as soon as he moved, my hand did the same thing and went straight to the gun tucked in my bag. I curled my fingers around the handle, not really sure what was going to happen at this point.

Rick confirmed my suspicions when he set a big-ass piece of weaponry on the desk in front of him. It was shiny, and it gleamed in warning. I had no doubt he knew how to use it. But, like before, I was beyond simple intimidation.

Rick blinked at me slowly, but it wasn't a leering gaze. It was professionally studious. He was measuring me, and we both knew it. "Bet you're packing some souped up girly gun in that bag of yours," he said finally, a cold hint of a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. "A thirty-eight? A little Bursa, maybe?"

I pursed my lips thoughtfully and shrugged, my usually reserved sass monster rearing it's head. "Bet my little souped up girly gun is aimed at your manparts."

Rick coughed and sat up in his chair, losing his smirk right quick. "Arthur," he barked into the doorway off to his right. "It's for you." When he turned back around, his face had gone expressionless, and that kind of scared me more than his gun. So, instead of thinking about it, I gave him a polite, one-second smile before turning my attention to the doorway.

There was a noise from the back room, and a second later, a man in a wheelchair rolled through the doorway. He came to a stop, positioned even with the desk, and smiled politely at me.

While Finn had been nearly an exact replica of his mom, he differed quite a bit from his dad. In fact, aside from a shared slope of the jaw and curve of a smile, they looked nothing alike. But I could see enough to make a definitive match. This was Finn's father. Oh boy.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice smooth and low.

I cast a speculative glance around the room, wondering the most tactful way to go about this. Then, realizing I was running out of time, I decided to curbstomp tact and just jump right in. Patented Riley Stewart move, tried and true. "Do you have kids?" I queried, figuring we might as well just get it all out now.

Rick bristled, his fingers running over the gun with deceptive laziness, and pain flashed across Arthur's face. He didn't try to hide it. Touchy subject, then. "No," Arthur said, an obviously old tension in his voice as he flicked a hand down over his limp lower half. "The accident made that impossible." Then his face twisted into vague unease, and he looked at me sharply. "Who are you?"

I chewed on my lip. "You're the psychic, you tell me." Neither of them found that amusing, I could tell. I guess it sounded better in my head. Still, it wasn't a half bad way of putting my knowledge out there. Arthur rubbed a hand across his jaw, a gesture so distinctly Finn that it was unnerving.

"I can't have kids," he repeated more firmly. "It's a physical impossibility."

I shrugged helplessly, not sure if there was a better way to tell him. "So is seeing the future. But you see it. Your daughter sees it—variations of it, anyway."

Rick sat up, ramrod straight. His fingers tightened on his gun, but his anger wasn't directed at me. He turned his head very slightly to the right, barely even looking at Arthur. "That woman," he growled, very dangerously and very quietly, but I still heard it. "I told you something about her was off, showing up again after all that time."

"Jemma McAllister," I said promptly, knowing there could really only be one woman to elicit that kind of reaction.

Rick looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted another head. Arthur just looked kind of sick.

I took a step forward, using the hand already inside my bag to pull it around in front of me. "Eh, eh, eh, slowly," Rick tsked, shaking the barrel of his gun at me in warning. I gave him a steady look, but I really couldn't blame him in the slightest. I had shown up out of nowhere and dropped a bomb on his business partner. I was armed, and I knew Arthur was a psychic. I would have been wary of me, too.

Sighing, I brought my gun out slowly, setting it on the desk—just to appease Rick—with a roll of my eyes. He stared at it, tongue in cheek, looking slightly dissatisfied. Sorry bub, no souped up girly gun here.

I rolled my eyes again and dug my wallet out of the messenger bag, setting a piece of paper on the edge of the desk and sliding it towards Arthur. "Your daughter's name is Mika. She's staying with another psychic for now. A woman named Missouri Moseley. Mika is looking for you, and I promised her I'd find you, but I never said I'd put you two in contact. If you want to know more, give me a call."

Then I collected my gun and backed up towards the door, leaving a stunned Arthur staring at the paper I'd put in front of him. Rick just watched me leave with hooded eyes. I think he was still annoyed that I had threatened to shoot him in the goonies.

I was almost out the door when Arthur called after me in a strangled tone, "Who are you?"

I pivoted slowly on my heels, not sure how to really answer that one. Then it came to me, and I shrugged, already feeling a bit bad for what I was about to spring on him. "Name's Riley," I told him. "I'm dating your son."

And out I walked.

"I don't have kids," Arthur bellowed, ruining my grand exit. "You're lying!" I came to a stop, tipping my head back and staring at the gloomy sky. Then I pulled an "about face" and marched back into the shop. Rick was glaring at me, hand still on his gun. I was beginning to think he was overcompensating for something.

I pulled my sketchbook out, flipping to a sketch of Mika. "This is Mika," I gritted out. "She is your daughter." I flipped to the next page. "This is Finn. He is your son." Next page. It had sketches of both Mika and Finn on it. "Daughter," I said with exaggerated slowness as I pointed to Mika. "Son," I intoned, just as slowly, pointing to Finn.

I swear, if he didn't see the family resemblance, or at least the resemblance to Jemma, I was going to have him declared legally blind.

I flipped to the next page, but all it had was a decapitated vampire in a pool of blood, surrounded by shattered mirror shards. "Oh," I narrated, "that's a vampire I killed. Pay him no mind." Next page. This one had my ultimatum.

It was a picture of Jemma, featuring the hard set of her face—in heavy charcoal lines and dark shading—while she threatened to hurt my family if I didn't give up Mika. I still had nightmares about that look, because that was the moment when she truly made me believe her when she said she'd hurt them.

I pointed at it, allowing the anger and fear that Jemma made me feel come out in my voice. "This is Jemma—a lying, manipulative, borderline abusive mother." I leaned forward, getting on Arthur's level, when my mind lit up like a flare, and I froze.

Jemma, a woman who didn't seem to be that involved with her relatively normal son, was strangely obsessed with her psychic daughter. Plus, for some reason, she'd sought out and had two children with a random man. Only...he wasn't a random man. He was psychic.

Oh my gosh. This was worse, so much worse than I'd originally thought. I cleared my throat, putting words to my horrible revelation. "She slept with you to have a psychic kid. Only, Finn didn't turn out psychic. So she came back to try again. And it worked."

I paused, seeing Arthur's utter pain and confusion. Then I hammered it home. "She's trying to find Mika. To use her, to manipulate her gift. Jemma's the ultimate Hunter. Driven, obsessed." Chewing on my lip, I paused again. God, I felt like I was blindsiding this man and beating the knowledge into his brain with a crowbar. I was probably the worst person for the job.

Only now, Arthur didn't look confused anymore. Something was dawning on him, and I could see it in his face. "She wanted me...to work with her," he said, faltering. "To revolutionize Hunting."

I straightened, already knowing where this was heading. "You said no, so she went for the next best thing." Arthur looked ashen now, and I didn't blame him. Well, I kind of did. He'd slept with a psycho...twice. Don't ask me how that had even happened. I didn't know or want to even think about it.

Still, him just knowing didn't help Mika. What he was going to do with the knowledge—well that, that was my concern. I rapped two knuckles sharply on the piece of paper, drawing his dazed look to it. "You have a daughter who needs your help," I said softly. "She's untrained, untested. She grew up thinking she was some kind of freak. But she wants to help people, and I think you do too. I'm not asking you to suddenly make her part of your life. Hell, I'm not asking anything. I just thought you should know."

I took a step back from the desk, suddenly feeling lost. I had delivered the message. I had completed my side of the bargain. Now it was up to Arthur. I just hoped to God I hadn't just ruined Mika's only chance to get to know her dad.


	4. Clues

Disclaimer: Supernatural characters are not mine.

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**FINN**

I slung my jacket over one arm and pulled my tie left and right, loosening it as I unlocked the motel room door and walked in. Riley was sitting at the table, a black binder spread out before her. She looked nothing like the unmovable lump she had been this morning. In fact, she was quietly crooning what sounded suspiciously like a love song about bacon, only pausing to throw a casual "Hey" over to me. But she was Riley, and there were a million and one things packed into that single word, first and foremost being guilt.

I sat down on the bed, knowing she'd be more comfortable if I wasn't staring across the table at her. "What did you do?" I asked tiredly.

She hunched over the binder, flipping the page as she pressed her lips into a tight line. I waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before the words came rushing out. Riley was like that.

A minute later, she proved me right. "I found your dad," she blurted, eyes almost comically wide as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Pain started in my stomach with a nasty twist. My father. The words sounded wrong just coming out of her mouth. "I don't have a father, Riley. Not before, not now, not ever. Understand?" I didn't like how harsh it came out, but there was no changing how I felt.

Riley gave me a level look, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered it, and then she shrugged. I could literally see the exact point when she decided my repudiation wasn't valid. "He's psychic," she said quietly, fingering the corner of the plastic covering on one of the pages. "I guess that's where Mika gets it from. She called me today, told me right where to find him."

I stood up abruptly. "I don't want to talk about this," I grated out. Riley looked up from the binder, tilting her head slightly as she gazed at me.

After a long moment, she nodded. "Okay," she affirmed. "So what did you find today?"

I sat down again, pulling off the tie and tossing it with the jacket onto the bed behind me. "Nothing. No sulfur, no EMF, no fur, no signs of a struggle. There was nothing. Whatever is taking these people is playing it smart." What I didn't tell her was that I had no idea how to proceed. Nobody had seen anything, and I had zero leads.

Riley set her chin on one hand, tapping the table thoughtfully with the fingers of her other. "I mapped out the locations of the disappearances," she said thoughtfully, pulling open her laptop and spinning it towards me. She craned to the side, so she could see the screen and point to different spots. "Here, here, here, and here. Oh, and here. They're all spread out across the city, with no landmark or geographical commonalities. But guess what's within a two block radius of each of those places." Riley pursed her lips, but this time it wasn't in guilt. It was in anger. "Homeless shelters," she said darkly, pausing to give me time to process that. Then she went on, her voice cold. "Chances are, the scumbags are kidnapping homeless people, and we don't know how many, because no one's noticed or reported it."

I stared at the map. She was right. I'd driven by one of the shelters earlier today, and I'd thought nothing of it. I rubbed my jaw, thinking it through. No one really kept track of the homeless population, and if they went missing not many people would notice.

Shit. Riley was smart, scary smart. And her conclusions were sound, which made our problems double. I reached behind me, snagging the tie off the bed and draping it around my neck again with a sigh. "I'll go check out some of the shelters. See if anyone's seen or heard anything."

Riley shut the laptop and slid off the stool. "I'll come with," she said.

I glanced up sharply. "No," I told her. "Absolutely not."

She looked a little taken aback. Then she just looked defiant. "This Hunting thing? We're in it together. You and me are a team," she stated earnestly, motioning back and forth between us with a finger.

I shook my head. "Not this time," I told her. Her eyes narrowed, and I knew she was about to demand an explanation, so I beat her to it. "I've stayed in a homeless shelter, Ri. That's not somewhere I want you to be."

Her hand curled into a fist at her side, betraying her annoyance, but eventually it loosened and she flattened it carefully, her face much the same. "Okay," she said, too evenly to be anything but forced. "I'll stay here and keep digging."

"Will you?" I challenged, thinking about this morning when she'd obviously gone out on her own.

Annoyance sparked in her eyes. "I _said_ I'll stay here," she said stiffly. "I mean what I say."

"Fine," I said shortly, wondering why I was so on edge over this.

"Fine," she retorted, turning back to her binder.

I got up and left, still thinking about how casually she had gone out and found my father. My father. God, that was messed up. I clicked the door shut behind me, waiting until I heard her get up and lock it before heading out.

The first homeless shelter turned up nothing. No one was willing to talk. The second was much the same. Dozens of weary, distrusting eyes followed my every movement, and I didn't blame them. I had been in their position, before, and I wouldn't have behaved any differently back then.

It wasn't until the fourth shelter that someone had something for me. A man, wearing a tattered overcoat and fingerless gloves motioned me to him. I walked over and sat down at the bench, not knowing what to expect.

"Dave's missing," he told me through tobacco stained lips and three or four missing teeth. "Ain't seen him since Friday morning, and Dave don't ever miss lunch on Friday. That's pasta day."

I took down a few more details and moved on. No one else said much. A few mentioned friends that had gone missing, but it was a homeless shelter. People wandered in and out all the time. It wasn't uncommon for them to move on without telling anyone. Still, Riley was right. It was all too easy to lose track of a homeless person, which made me believe that something else was going on other than normal disappearances.

Once I was finished canvassing the five homeless shelters, I had a list of nineteen missing people. Eleven men and eight women, all gone without a trace within the last six months. I walked out of the last shelter, feeling uneasy. The last disappearance had been just around the corner.

Following the sidewalk, I headed back to the place I'd just visited this morning. It was an alley, and as I walked deeper, I caught a flash of movement behind a dumpster tucked towards the back.

Approaching cautiously, I found an older woman, hunched by a small vent, and I was met with a warm blast of air. Smart, this lady. She'd found an exhaust vent to keep warm with. "There was a man who disappeared from here the other day," I told her, giving it one last shot. "Did you know him?"

She looked me up and down, catching sight of my gun in the shoulder holster. "What of it?" she demanded uneasily. "I told you fellows last week when Jocko went missing, and you never cared before. What's different?"

I crouched, getting on her level. "Jocko's not the only one that's gone missing," I told her. "I'm just trying to figure out what happened."

She eyed me, sucking on the inside of her cheeks. "You a cop?"

I shrugged. "Something like that."

"It's that damn food truck. I told him, I told Jocko not to eat those fancy sandwiches. Something wasn't right with them girls giving them out. But did he listen? No. He never listens. He ate 'em. He ate the sandwich, and then he fell over. Just like a tree. Fell over and started snoring, then those alien men came at night and hauled him away. Just like that. Zip zap, gone. "

I stood up again, not surprised the cops hadn't believed her. "What did they look like?" I asked gingerly, not entirely convinced she wasn't crazy. If she said little green men, then I was out of here.

"All hairy. Leathery skin. Damn aliens probably took him to be probed," she asserted, holding her hands to the vent.

"I'll look into it," I told her.

"Damn aliens, I tell you!" she crowed as I walked away. I put my notepad in my jacket pocket and went back to Riley's car.

Then I sat there behind the wheel, trying to sort things out in my brain. Leathery skinned and hairy. That didn't give me much to go on, but it was something.

I thought about it on the way back to the motel. Leathery skin, hairy. That gave me a rough starting point. Not much of one, but a start nonetheless. Okay. Abductions, that was a clue, too. Abductions meant planning, and most of the baddies I went after showed an extreme lack of foresight, dropping bodies and leaving them for me to find. But multiple abductions were different. It meant they had to have several different steps laid out before implementation.

Step one: subdue. The homeless woman had said that girls were handing out sandwiches. I'd bet ten-to-one that those sandwiches had been laced with some kind of sedative.

Step two: collection. After the drugs took affect, the leathery fellows had come and collected the downed body, possibly multiple bodies.

Step three: transport. While Albany was no New York City, some camera somewhere had to have caught a glimpse of the abductors' mode of transportation. If they had grabbed more than one person, it was probably a van of some sort.

Step four: storage. Based on number of disappearances over the last few months, I suspected a warehouse or abandoned building would be big enough to house the captives.

Step five: disposal. As grisly as it sounded, whatever was taking the people was taking them for a reason. More often than not, it involved a rather macabre, carnal appetite. Monsters ate people. It was a fact of life. What they did with the remnants remained to be seen.

I was still pondering that particular conundrum when I got out of the car and entered our motel room. Like before, Riley was sitting at the table with her laptop. Unlike before, something was very off. I couldn't put my finger on it for the longest time. Then it hit me.

Riley was still. And Riley was never still.

She'd fidget, drum her fingers against a surface. She'd play with her hair, tap the case of her phone. She'd pick at non-existent lint on her pants or sweatshirt, sketch a picture or two. But never, in all my time with her, had Riley ever been...still. Except for now.

"What'd you find?" I asked quietly, rubbing the back of my neck and knowing it couldn't have be good.

"Twenty-three," Riley said, her voice cold. Her shoulders were hunched, and I didn't miss the tightness in them. "I found reports of twenty-three missing homeless people." She twisted in her seat to face me, looking sick. "How do twenty-three people go missing and no one really notices or cares?"

"Bobby noticed," I told her, as if that was any kind of consolation.

"Do you know what's taking them?" she asked, words clipped and precise.

"Maybe," I admitted, pulling off my tie again. "But I'll need to do some research to be sure. My first guess doesn't usually prey on adults. Kids are more their style."

Riley's face got real empty, real fast. She was angry. More than angry, I would guess. When I got mad, I punched things or yelled. I was starting to realize that Riley never yelled or hit things to indicate her anger. She did this...this stone-faced thing. When she was mad—truly furious—her face would go non-expressive, and her eyes would be the only signs of life.

She looked like that now, and it made me want to shut up and get out of her way. I was glad it wasn't directed at me. "When you figure it out for sure," she said tightly, "let me know. Then we'll go kill it."

I nodded, somewhat at a loss.

Her eyes were red and somewhat hooded, indicative of multiple hours staring at a screen and not enough sleep. I motioned to the bed with a hand, trying to be casual. "Why don't you get some shuteye. I'll just take a shower and then hammer out some research." She looked ready to refuse, so I quickly reassured her. "I'll wake you up once I have something definitive."

Gold-flecked eyes slid to the bed, suddenly filled with an apprehension that I didn't understand. But Riley's practicality won out. She went to the bed and settled down on her side, pillowing her head on an arm.

I tossed my suit jacket and tie on the other bed before heading to the bathroom. After spending the day combing through alleys and other various disappearance sites, I felt slightly grimy.

When I exited the bathroom ten minutes later, Riley was already asleep. Good, she needed it. A few seconds later, her phone rang, and I scrambled for it, not wanting her to wake up. Reaching over her laptop and snatching it off the table, I swiped to answer before considering the ramifications.

"Riley?" the voice on the other end asked. Deep voice, rough edge, male. I pulled the phone away from my ear, checking the display. Dean Winchester. Dean Freaking Winchester.

"Riley's asleep," I said, maybe a bit harsher than I intended.

There was silence on the other end. I couldn't even begin to imagine what was going through Dean Winchester's head. "You must be Finn," he said finally. The way he said my name was weird, though. Accusatory, almost.

"The one and only," I confirmed, not liking his tone. I waited, wondering if he was going to say more on the subject. He didn't. Instead, he moved the conversation back to Riley.

"How's she doing?" he asked, his voice a little softer. "After the vampire thing."

I sat down on the stool Riley had used, turning back to look at her as I propped my elbow on the table and held the phone to my hear. "She doesn't talk about it," I admitted after a pause.

Dean snorted. "She won't," he said. And for some reason, it irked me that he knew that about her. "Anyways, tell her to call me when she wakes up."

"Will do," I said stiffly, more than ready to hang up and end this conversation. I did, then tossed the phone down onto the table with a little more force than necessary. I'd never been a jealous guy, but thirty seconds on the phone with Dean Winchester, and I was steamed. Don't ask me why.

My fingers hit the keys of Riley's laptop aggressively for a while before I got lost in the research. Then I forgot all about Dean and his influence over Riley. I forgot, because I had an inkling about what had taken the missing people. Turns out, I was right.

Around eleven, I confirmed it. Rawheads. Though Rawheads usually went after kids, I could see why they'd adapted. People made a big stink about missing kids these days. Amber alerts, tv appearances, Facebook. But homeless people? No one noticed if they went off the grid.

It had taken me the better part of six hours, but I'd finally hacked the security footage of the ATM camera at the end of the block near the last abduction. It was a long shot, but as I played through it, I was proven right. A large gray van drove by, back windows conveniently covered in logos and impossible to see through. I ran the footage back, catching a bare glimpse of the driver side window. Light was reflecting off it, distorting the image, but I saw enough. It was a Rawhead, plain and simple.

Jemma and I had taken one down a long time ago. As soon as I saw the matted hair and humanoid face, tucked into a dark hood, I knew.

It was no wonder, really, that the homeless lady had thought they were aliens. They were ugly enough, hairy enough. Where they were taking the abductees was anyone's guess, though.

I scrubbed at my eyes, knowing there was no way I could hack the traffic grid and follow the van's route. The only way I would ever know where the van was going was to follow it the next time it came and went. Which was great in theory, but a mind-boggler in reality. Closing my eyes, I pinched my forehead with three fingers.

What to do, what to do.

Any plans came to a screeching halt, though, when a little hitched cry sounded out. My eyes jerked open immediately, honing in on the source. Riley. Another little sound followed, and it made my stomach twist. "Riley," I called across the space. She didn't answer, but her fist bunched the blanket, and her muscles twitched. I could hear her harsh, panicked breaths, and see the sweat that was beading on her forehead.

Nightmare. She was having a nightmare, and I didn't have to guess what it was about as I scrambled up, headed for her. I was already reaching for Riley when I remembered her freaking G.I. Joe knife. Yanking my hand back a hair's breadth from touching her shoulder, I took a step back to grab a pillow of the other bed and toss it at her.

It bounced off her stomach onto the bed, and she erupted upwards into a kneeling crouch, slamming the blade of her knife into the pillow and neatly pinning it to the bed. "Ri," I called, my hands held out placatingly as I tried to catch her attention. She looked over at me as the breath sawed in and out of her chest. Nope, no recognition in those eyes. They were wild and shifty, reminding me of a cornered animal.

"It's me," I tried again. "You're safe. They're all dead, remember? You're safe." I was calm and smooth as I took a step for her, holding my hand out for the knife. She blinked, and her brain finally caught up with her body. She fell backwards out of her crouch, pulling her knife free of the pillow. She didn't give it to me, though, which I hardly expected anyways. Instead, it disappeared down under her pillow again. Then she wiped a hand up her face with a shaky breath, shoving her hair out of her face.

"You okay?" I asked, not knowing what I should do.

Riley didn't answer, resting her arms loosely on her knees as she avoided eye contact.

I took another step closer and climbed onto her bed, slinging an arm over her shoulders. She was stiff at first, but then she loosened up and eventually slumped against me.

I didn't tell her she needed to talk about it, didn't play the doting therapist. I just held her until the shaking stopped and her breathing went back to normal. "Di-did yo—" Her voice trembled, so she stopped and tried again. "Did you find out what we're after?"

"Yeah," I answered truthfully, resting my chin on the top of her head. "But we can take care of it in the morning."

She huddled to the center of the bed and finally unfolded her legs, and I moved backwards until we were both stretched out, side by side. Riley laid back, her head on my arm as she tucked herself against my side.

"Eleventy-two seven. Okay," she murmured sleepily as she scrubbed at her eyes with a knuckle. I wondered if that was some kind of code until I saw the clock. Eleven twenty-seven.

I snorted, listening to Riley's breathing slow. Just when I thought she was asleep again, she shifted slightly. "Will you keep watch?" she mumbled. I hesitated, wondering if she was actually asking or if she was talking in her sleep. A nudge to my side told me it was the former.

"That's a tall order," I told her, knowing it would entail not getting any sleep tonight. And dang was I tired.

"Yer a tall guy," she just barely mumbled back, head lolling against my arm.

"I will," I promised, having already decided on it the second she'd asked.

"'K." Then Riley fell asleep, limbs loose, as if she hadn't just instinctively impaled a pillow with a nine inch serrated blade only minutes ago.

I shook my head and stared up at the ceiling. Since I had time, I might as well come up with some kind of gameplan. Riley would probably demand a step by step, detailed list of our next moves. I didn't mind just coming up with it as I went, but Riley did, and she would dig her heels in until she knew exactly how we were going to proceed.

So I could keep watch. I would stay awake so that she didn't have to, and I would come up with a gameplan, so she knew what was going to happen. And I would do it without grumbling, because I liked her that much.

I sighed, mentally preparing myself for the long night ahead.

Rawheads. Okay. What did I know about Rawheads?


	5. Rawheads

Disclaimer: Supernatural characters are not mine.

* * *

**RILEY**

I woke up feeling rather foolish. Warm, safe, in control—but foolish nonetheless. Yowza, I was embarrassed. Last night I'd pulled the "Will you stay with me?" routine most often found in corny romance novels or parent-child interactions.

And Finn, the cad, had totally followed through.

As soon as I woke up, he pulled his arm free, fighting back a hiss in what I knew would be a response to severe pins-and-needles. I'd been sleeping on his arm, no doubt cutting off circulation. Whoops. My bad.

"Morning," he murmured. I kept my eyes closed, replaying that word again and again as I mentally analyzed his voice for any annoyance or disgust. I couldn't find any, so I opened my eyes. Finn was lying on his side, head tilted sideways as he propped it up with his fist. I rolled onto my side, resting my head on my arm.

"Morning." I was wary. Would he think I was selfish for having demanded he keep watch all night? But his face didn't betray anything other than a kind of heaviness. My brow wrinkled. "What's up?" My voice was growly from sleep, and it was not attractive.

Finn paid it no mind, though. He just brought a hand out from behind him, my sketchbook held between his fingers. Oh. I'd forgotten to put it away after drawing yesterday. He must have seen it on the table and decided to take a look.

Poop.

Yesterday, between bouts of research, I'd finished my so-called "storyboard from Hell." I guess maybe that was why I'd been so freaked out last night, the images having followed me into my sleep. I'd known they probably would, but I'd been unable to stop myself once I started sketching.

It was all there now—every single grisly death—trapped between those pages. None of them were G-rated, and if Finn had seen them…

I thought he was going to say something, but he just looked at me. I looked back at him. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "For what you had to do."

And that was it. That was all he said. Yeesh, somehow I'd gotten lucky with the least melodramatic boyfriend of all time.

But, on the flipside, he hadn't acknowledged the drawings of Mika or Jemma. I knew he'd seen them. Mika was actually in there quite a bit. There was something about her, an innate goodness, that mesmerized me. I couldn't stop drawing her. Finn, though, made no mentions of her. I knew he wasn't comfortable with the whole idea of having a father and a sister, but he was going to have to accept it sooner or later. I felt like those two parts of my life were going to collide, and when they did, the fireworks were going to be spectacular.

Spectacular right up until the moment when they morphed into the flames of Hell.

I rolled onto my back again, and Finn followed suit. Our hips and shoulders pressed together, two warm reminders that I wasn't alone in this. Finn tossed my sketchbook away, and somehow produced my phone.

"Dean Winchester called last night," he stated, dropping the phone onto my stomach. His voice sounded kind of funny, though, and I turned my head, studying his profile in confusion. He sounded...jealous? I wasn't sure.

"Oh?" I commented carefully.

"Wanted you to call him back when you woke up." Yep, definite hint of jealousy. But why?

I wasn't sure what the girlfriend protocol on this was, so I figured I'd just up and ask him. "Are you jealous for some reason?" I ventured, immediately cringing when it came out sounding petty and inflammatory. Yeah, no one would ever accuse me of being tactful.

"What?" Finn demanded.

"I don't know. You just sounded kind of funny a second ago," I assessed.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just...I don't know. You, with the Winchesters…"

I blinked, completely at a loss. On a helpfulness scale from one to ten, that was like a negative three. "Me with the Winchesters, what?" I prompted, not knowing how far I should push him. Sadly, Finn and I weren't exactly known for our qualities of openness and heart-to-heart sharing. It made conversations like this extremely difficult. Libby and Trevor talked to each other about this kind of stuff all the time.

Day three of the relationship, and we were already struggling with the whole communication thing. Awesome.

"I…" Finn mumbled. Then he fell silent again.

I waited. I could be patient. Patience was one trait I had. Tact? Nope. Grace? Out of the question. Sexyness? That was almost laughable. Oh, but thank heavens I had patience in abundance. I'd definitely gotten the short end of the stick on that one.

I wrinkled my nose, ending my internal monologue before I started arguing with myself.

"I...I wasn't there," Finn finally spat out, like the words physically pained him.

I blinked again. _Come on, give me some more to work with_, I called to him.

"Wasn't where?" I asked slowly, after Finn refused to offer more.

"There. For you. When you needed me," he gritted out. His voice was strained, and I realized how hard that had been for him to admit it. Also why my apparent relationship with the Winchesters might have egged on his frustration and a certain little green monster.

The Winchesters were pretty much like white knights. They rode into town on the Impala, wearing their plaid, multi-layered armor, and basically just took care of business. Saved the damsel, as it were. And while I was ninety-nine percent sure that Finn wasn't aware of my "almost dying" portion of time spent with the Winchesters post-wendigo, he did know how they pretty much saved me during the whole vampire Hell Week.

And I guess if I was confined to a hospital bed, knowing that Finn was out there being hunted by a nest of vampires and knowing that I couldn't do anything about it, fear and frustration would probably boil up in me too. And, of course, if two sexy women happened to swoop in and save the day, that might also piss me off.

So I could see where he was coming from. Was it realistic? Yeah. But was he totally overreacting? Absolutely.

"You're totally overreacting," I told him sagely, even though I was pretty sure that statement was on the no-no list for dating.

Finn flipped on his side, staring me down. His eyes were narrowed, jaw tight. "I'm overreacting?" he said slowly.

_Danger, Will Robinson! Danger, Will Robinson!_ my brain blared. "Totally," I confirmed with a yawn. "When the Winchesters showed up to help, I told them to mind their own freaking business. Well, I used a different word than freaking. Then I slammed the door in their faces. It was great. I wish I could have taken a video of it. Besides, they're like my brothers. You have nothing to worry about. If you...er...were worried...about something. "

After that, Finn just kind of froze, speechless. I got up and padded to the bathroom, waiting until I closed the door before dropping my face into my hands. Wow. Relationships were hard.

I started the shower then stuck my head out the door. "Hey, so what'd you find about the case? Know what we're dealing with?" Finn was still laying where I'd left him. Only his head was down. "Finn?" I called. He was completely out. Typical. I rolled my eyes and disappeared back into the bathroom.

Showers are lovely. It's the getting out part that ruins everything. I shut off the water and flung back the pathetic little curtain, face already scrunched in anticipation of the cold blast of air. Motel rooms. They never change.

Pulling on some clean clothes was nice, though. It's strange how much the little things can brighten your mood. Throwing the door open, I stepped out of the tiny bathroom and went to the table. My laptop was askew, which meant Finn had used it last night. I pulled the lid open as I sat down. Then I dialed Dean's number, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the table as I combed my fingers through my hair, working out the tangles.

"Hey, it's me," I said when he finally picked up. Dean grunted quietly in reply, which made me wonder if he was half-asleep. "Finn said you called. What's up?"

Another grunt. Then a rustle, definitely blankets being thrown back. "Heard Bobby found you a case." That was it. No question or anything. I waited patiently, looking at the pictures Finn had pulled up on the laptop. Ew. Gnarly looking buggers. There were five different tabs open. I clicked through them as I waited for Dean to elaborate. All the tabs contained information about the same type of monster. Apparently we were hunting Rawheads.

Dean still didn't say anything more, so I took the initiative. "Yep," I said finally, not sure what he wanted. "Couple of Rawheads. Finn and I are taking care of it."

"Finn," Dean grunted, completely ignoring the Rawhead part of my sentence. "Don't take this the wrong way, kiddo, but your boyfriend's a dick."

I paused, fingers halfway through my hair as I stared at the phone. Seriously? That's what he was going with? "Hmm," I said casually. "Sounds a lot like someone else I know." Dean snorted, and I grinned. "Anything else?" I prompted, shoving my hair behind me as I scrolled down one of the pages.

"Yeah, uh…" Dean hesitated and cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was getting serious. "One of our old contacts sent something down the grapevine. Apparently, Jemma's been asking around for you."

Shit.

My hand shot out, and I snatched up the phone quickly, turning off the speaker and cradling it close as I hunched forward, as if that would keep Finn from hearing. Even though he appeared comatose, I sent a suspicious glance over my shoulder to confirm it. "So soon?" I whispered, somewhat at a loss. That was quick. I thought for sure that I'd had more time.

"Riley, what did you do?" Dean asked earnestly. It wasn't accusatory, just concerned.

"Mika. I hid Mika from her," I said quietly.

Dean swore. In the background, I heard Sam's sleepy murmur. "Nothing, Sammy. Go back to sleep," Dean said softly. There was a creak, and then the sound of a door opening and closing.

"You stole Psycho Bitch's psychic daughter?" Dean said, louder than before. "Are you insane?"

I scowled. "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

"That's because it _is_ bad, Riley," Dean snapped. "What were you thinking?"

"Oh please," I snapped back, "Sam gave me Missouri's card. What the hell did you guys think I was going to do with that information?" I actually wanted to know the answer to that, because what I'd done was clearly the most logical course of action. Or at least I thought so. Apparently not, from Dean's point of view.

"Not that," Dean said sharply after a long pause.

"Well, what would you have done?" I demanded, already knowing the answer. He would have done the same thing I'd done. Any person with a shred of compassion would have too. There was silence on the other end, because we both knew I was right. Then Dean sighed.

"Just watch your back," he said finally.

"I will. And Finn will too."

"Yeah," Dean said, tone unreadable.

I snorted. "You two would hate each other. You're too much alike." But Dean didn't laugh like I'd hoped.

"If she shows up, you call me," he said grimly.

"Dean—" I protested.

"Dammit, Riley," he barked. I held the phone away from my ear, wincing. "I'm serious. She will kill you. Jemma's a psycho."

"I—" I hesitated, unable to finish. I would what, exactly? I never got the chance to finish that thought, because Finn's hand appeared over my shoulder, plucking the phone out of mine.

"Jemma won't be a problem," he said, voice husky with sleep. "If it comes down to that, I'll take care of it." Dean said something, and Finn nodded, face twisting into something dark. "I will," he said, gaze settling on me. Oh my gosh. He'd take care of it. Which meant what? I had a pretty good idea, but I seriously hoped I was wrong.

Finn hung up and I dropped my head onto the table, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please tell me you aren't going to kill your mother if she comes after us," I said weakly.

Finn sat down beside me, his breathing unsteady. "If it was you or her...you know who I'd choose."

Because nothing said "True Love" like matricide.

I groaned, bumping my head against the table repeatedly. "Stop," Finn said lightly, massaging my shoulders. "It won't come to that." Except it would, 'cause Jemma was looking for me.

I lifted my head, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts whirred around in a maelstrom. "Okay," I said. "Let's focus on one problem at a time. Rawheads. How do we kill Rawheads?"

"Electricity," Finn provided automatically. "Rawheads are aggressive and strong, but you hit 'em with a taser and they drop."

"I don't have a taser," I said, pursing my lips.

Finn shook his head. "I know how to get my hands on some. Next?"

I propped my head on my fist. "Um. Okay, so, we need to find out where they're taking the people. How do we go about that?" Neither of us said anything for a while as we thought it through.

I got up and paced for a bit. Finn stood, reaching for a tourist brochure containing a map of the city and shaking it out so he could study it. An idea popped into my head, and I narrowed my eyes, knowing he probably wouldn't like it. "On a scale of one to murder, how would you feel about me going undercover at one of the shelters?"

Finn didn't bother to look up from the map he was marking. "I would already be searching for a place to hide the body," he murmured, closing the topic quite easily.

I pursed my lips, not yet willing to let it go. "They've already seen you, but they don't know me. It would be the perfect opportunity to find out more."

"It's not happening, Riley." Oh. So that's how it was.

"Technically, we're only dating, so really, I could still do it without your permission." It was a kind way to tell him that he was being a control freak.

"Technically, I could handcuff you to a radiator for the rest of the case, and I would only be breaking, like, four different laws." Wow, he was testy. Maybe he needed some more sleep.

I came up behind Finn, wrapping my arms around him and resting my forehead against his back. His skin was warm through his t-shirt. "You mustn't breathe, Riley. Not without my permission," I said, making my voice comically deep.

"Come on, Ri. You know it's not like that," he said. Then he sighed, dropping the pen he was using as his head bowed. "I'm sorry. I'm being an ass, I know."

I bumped my forehead against his back a couple times. "What's this about, really?" I wheedled, knowing it had to be something.

Finn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just…I just got you back. I don't want to put you in..."

"In danger?" I provided. "Finn, my middle name is Danger."

He shook his head with a little snort. "Your middle name is Ann. That's about as far from Danger as you can get." But he turned around and looked down at me, a little grin on his face. "Give me twenty-four hours," he said confidently. "If I don't have anything by then, we'll talk about you maybe going undercover." Before I could say anything, he outlined what he'd already found. Sandwich truck to drug the victims, gray van to transport, probable warehouse location.

I listened patiently, all the while watching him and seeing something behind his self-assurance. Fear. He was legitimately scared. For me. "Okay," I capitulated, when he was done. "Twenty-four hours." Relief crashed over him, easing the tense set of his shoulders. "I'm going to get some coffee," I said, wanting to give him space to work. "You want?"

"Sure," he said, already turning back to the map.

I grabbed my coat and messenger bag, tucking my gun and sketchbook into it. Heading to the door, I patted my pockets before turning back to the table. My phone came flying through the air, Finn having tossed it without looking up. I caught it easily, before walking out.

I made it all the way to the nearest coffee shop and placed an order before my curiosity got the best of me. Opening the internet on my phone, I pulled up the address of the closest homeless shelter. It was within a reasonable walking distance, so I grabbed both coffees and took off.

My caramel latte was gone before I knew it, and it was chilly enough that Finn's coffee became my coffee. I sipped on it, as I sat on a bench across the street from the homeless shelter. A minute later, a bus pulled up, and I realized that I was sitting at the bus stop. I waved the bus driver on apologetically, letting him know I wasn't getting on. He threw up his hands in annoyance, and the bus pulled out. There was an ad, covering the back of the bus. It was promoting a new movie, which coincidentally featured psychics. Lovely. What a subtle reminder.

I sniffed, rubbing a finger under my nose. Yeah, it made me feel more than a little bit guilty. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed, making a phone call that I had thus far been avoiding.

"Did you find him?" Mika demanded as a greeting.

I swallowed my sip of coffee. "Yes," I said quietly. "I found him."

"And?" She sounded so hopeful, so ready for some good news. Good news that I didn't have.

"I told him about you, about Finn. And I gave him my number. He didn't...he didn't know about you. Or Finn." I winced at how inconsequential that sounded.

There was silence on the other end, then in a tiny, tiny voice, "Has he...has he called?"

My throat suddenly felt thick, because I could hear her desperation. "Not yet," I said quietly. I wished I could tell her that it was going to take time, given the sheer amount of information I'd thrown at him, but even that was a stretch. He might not call at all, and getting Mika's hopes up would only make it worse if he didn't.

"What about Jemma?" was her next question. There was a tremor in her voice, and I could tell she was trying not to cry.

"She doesn't know where you are." That I knew for sure. Jemma was looking for me, which meant she was unable to locate Mika. That was one good thing, at least.

"Yeah, okay," Mika said dully. Then she sniffled, definitely holding back tears this time. "Thanks for finding him."

"Yeah," I said quietly, wishing I could say something to make it better. But I couldn't.

"Oh, and Riley?" Mika added. "Roast beef." Then she hung up.

I frowned at the phone, not having the slightest idea what she was talking about. Knowing Finn was probably wondering where I was, though, I stood up and started walking back towards the motel.

I only made it a couple blocks before I was wading through a throng of slightly rumpled looking, slightly smelly people. They were dispersing away from a foodtruck that was being packed up and closed down. The foodtruck itself wasn't uncommon. I'd passed three charity foodtrucks during my walk. But as I made my way through the crowd, a scent hit my nose. Beef. Roast beef, to be specific. I came to a stop, turning on a dime as I realized what Mika had meant.

The foodtruck pulled away from the curb, a woman at the wheel and another in the passenger seat. Drugged sandwiches was how the Rawheads got people. And Mika had told me roast beef. Plus, Finn had said the sandwiches were served by women.

I hailed a cab, and luck was on my side as one pulled up right away. "Follow that foodtruck," I requested, feeling like I was in a movie. Apparently that wasn't even a strange request, because the cabbie didn't even give me a weird look or anything. He just pulled out, trailing a few cars behind the truck.

It didn't even occur to me, as we wound through the city into the more industrial sections, to call Finn and tell him that I was potentially trailing the truck back to the Rawheads.

Instead, I was on the edge of my seat, watching the truck in the distance. And then I was paying the cabbie and hopping out, knowing in my gut that the old sawmill in front of me was where I'd find the bad guys.

Of course, when my phone started vibrating, I remembered that Finn and I were supposed to be hunting together. I brought the phone up to my ear, forehead wrinkled. "Hey," I said. "So remember that one time when I said I was just going out to get some coffee?"

"Riley, that was literally only an hour ago," Finn pointed out.

"Oh. Ok. Whatever. Um, so I maybe got a little sidetracked and then followed the bad guys to their hideout." I scuffed my toe on the ground guilty.

"You what?" Finn demanded sharply.

I shrugged. "Eh, you know me, I'm all over the place."

"Where are you?" he asked. Now he just sounded a little scared, and it made me feel like a jerk.

"I'm safe. I'm camped outside an old sawmill. It's outside city limits." I twisted in place, trying to find a street sign or identifying landmark. A corroded old sign, well, half a sign really, proclaimed in bold letters, "ny's Mill." I relayed the information, hoping Finn could look it up.

He did. "Stay put. I'm on my way," he said.

"I will," I promised, and the call ended. Then I stuffed the phone in my pocket and turned around. There was a blur of movement to my right and a flash of pain in my head. Then I was falling to the ground, and everything went dark.


	6. Electric

A/N: I cannot think of one useful thing to say.

* * *

**FINN**

Riley was inside the mill somewhere, I knew it.

I'd tracked down the mill's location easy enough, using Riley's instructions. I knew I should wait for it to get a little darker, but I didn't care. Riley was inside. They'd had her for over an hour. I wasn't going to wait any longer.

I climbed out of the car, strapping a couple of tasers to my belt before heading inside. Scaling the rickety metal fence wasn't a real obstacle. I hopped down into the dirt, crouching to soften the impact. Then I pulled out my gun and broke into the mill using the rusty side door.

The mill was silent, but the lights were on. How that hadn't drawn the cops' attention yet was beyond me. The mill was the only thing with electricity in this entire area.

I turned my flashlight off and tucked into my back pocket. Then I leveled my gun and started clearing hallways, room by room.

The structure of the mill was pretty simple. I walked down one hallway, noting a few offices. Then I turned the corner and walked down another. More offices and some bathrooms. At the end was a breakroom, according to the little plastic plaque. Beyond that was the saw floor, separated from the hallway by thick, heavy sections of hanging plastic. I thought about checking out the floor, but then I heard movement inside the breakroom. Readying myself, I used one hand to turn the doorknob silently and then pushed the door slightly, training my gun in the widening gap.

I turned into the room, gun leveled. The Rawheads weren't inside. Instead, I was faced with two women, who were sorting through piles of clothing. One was crying softly, and the other just looked numb. Drivers, these were the drivers. I'd wondered how the Rawheads had gotten the two sandwich truck drivers to work with them. Now I had my answer.

Each woman had a chain attached to one leg. A manacle attached to their ankles that bolted them to the fucking wall. Rage burned hot inside me, and I let it simmer. Anger was good as long as you didn't let it make you stupid. Anger motivated.

The crying woman saw me first, and she dropped the bright red pair of rainboots that she'd been sorting with a squeak. "Don't kill us!" she cried, cowering behind her arms. The other woman just looked at me blankly, and I wondered if she'd even care.

I shook my head and put a finger to my lips, motioning for them to be quiet. The numb one blinked at me, a little life in her eyes now. She pointed down at the manacles and then pointed to the wall beside me. I followed her finger, seeing a key ring on a hook right inside the door. Pulling the set of keys free, I tossed it to her. The crying one fell silent as her friend unlocked the manacle on her leg first then freed herself.

"How many?" I whispered.

"Three m—" the crying one whispered back. She pressed her hand to her mouth, unable to finish.

Her friend filled in, a spark of fire in her eyes. She reminded me of Riley. "Three monsters," she said. Damn. Three Rawheads. No wonder so many people had been disappearing. The amount it would take to feed three Rawheads was disgusting to even think about. And I'd only brought two tasers, on the knowledge that Rawheads usually came in pairs.

I motioned for women to follow me, and they came into the hallway behind me. "Follow the hallway then turn right. At the end of that hall is the exit. Don't look back, don't come back. Got it?"

I didn't really care if they got it or not. I just wanted to find Riley.

Leaving them, I shoved my gun into its holster and then pulled out a taser, heading towards the heavy sheets of plastic. The long plastic rectangles were semi-opaque, giving me just enough of a visual to see a couple large shapes out on the floor. The sandwich truck and the van. But the Rawheads were nowhere to be seen, and there was no movement that I could see. Most importantly, no Riley. Where the hell was she?

I didn't hear a noise to my left. It was only instinct that warned me. I was already turning when the door started to open. The flash of matted hair and instant putrid smell was all that I needed, though. The Rawhead opened the door a little more, just starting to catch sight of me when I pulled the trigger.

The two taser leads shot out, hitting it square in the chest. The Rawhead started convulsing, letting out a loud, squalling growl. It fell to its knees before exploding into a bloody, shredded pile of gunk.

That was when I found out why there had been no movement out on the saw floor. Because the Rawheads weren't out there. They were all in the hallway with me. Something like a freight train slammed into my side, sending me flying through the heavy plastic curtain pieces.

The side of my head snapped against the concrete as I came crashing down. I shook it, trying to get the room back into focus as I pushed up to my hands and knees. I was too slow, though. The Rawhead that had steamrolled me came bursting through the plastic curtain, and it slammed a heavy foot into my side. I went flying, instinctively knowing that some of my ribs were cracked as the pain made me want to vomit.

Struggling upright was a chore, but I did it. When the Rawhead advanced, I brought up a knee, slamming into its side. The hairy beast staggered backwards. Then I followed with a couple of fast jabs. The Rawhead growled, blowing fetid air into my face as it slashed at me with its claws.

I backpedaled and wiped sweat off my forehead with a sleeve so it wouldn't drip into my eyes. Then I jumped backwards to avoid the quick slash of the claws across my abdomen. Ouch, that hurt like hell. No fast movements for me.

The Rawhead lunged forward again, slashing upwards, I batted the clawed hand aside, landing another solid fist to its face. The blow didn't seem to phase Rawhead much, because it just kept coming.

My hand went to my belt, searching for the second taser, but came away empty. I glanced down frantically, realizing the damn thing had fallen off. And there it was, laying on the ground behind the Rawhead I was currently facing. It must have come free when I'd been kicked.

The second Rawhead lumbered forward, slamming a foot down on the taser and crushing it into useless pieces. Damn it. Now what?

I must not have been completely recovered from hitting my head, because I never even saw the Rawhead facing me move. But again, my instincts saved me. I leaned back just in time to avoid a hairy fist hitting me in the face. If it had landed, my jaw would have been shattered. I wasn't in the clear, though. Faster than I thought possible, the Rawhead reversed the blow and backhanded me. I forgotten how strong these fuckers were.

I went flying, vision spinning wildly as I slammed down on the concrete again. The Rawhead loomed up, and I squinted hard up at it before raising my gun and emptying my entire clip into its stomach. The bullets didn't do much other than send it staggering backwards. Then pain bloomed across my stomach as the other Rawhead stepped in and decided to make mincemeat of me. Blood flew from its claws. My blood.

Its hand raised again as my vision started going black.

"Hey, uglies!" hollered a furious voice. It sounded like... "Come and get me, you shag-eared puttocks." Yep. Riley.

Then the blackness came, swallowing me in its intransigent jaws.

When the darkness finally relinquished its grip on my mind, the world filtered back into focus with painful clarity. I was still lying on the cold, concrete floor. My body hurt. A lot. I lifted my head slightly, dropping it quickly when the room swam. Closing my eyes, I let out a soft groan, resting my cheek on the cold ground.

Squeaking caught my attention. Footsteps squelched closer, and I managed to crack an eye open, trying to see who was coming. Boots filled my vision, bright red rubber boots. I rotated my head, following the boots up to legs. Then legs up to a face. It zoomed into view as Riley squatted by my head.

"Hey, Bae," she said cheekily. I blinked at her, taking in her black eye and split lip.

"Wha' happ'nd," I slurred, lifting my hand a little before exhausting my strength and dropping it.

Riley's eyes glittered dangerously. "They pegged me for a ditzy blonde who happened to wander out of the city and got lost. Knocked me out, dragged me in here, and confiscated my bag. They didn't even search me." I believed it, based on the mousey compliance the Rawheads had garnered from the two sandwich truck drivers.

But Riley wasn't done. "'Course, then they, you know, found my gun and sketchbook, which upgraded me to a murdering psychopath. But by then it was a too late. I'd already pulled out this bad boy and broken myself out."

Riley's GI Joe knife appeared in her hands, and she flipped it back and forth absently as she glanced around, surveying the room. I zeroed in on the blood liberally smeared across her knuckles and glanced up at her face. It was in icy mode, which meant she'd done something that she didn't want to think about.

Riley sheathed her knife and stood before stooping over me. "They dead?" I asked, biting back a groan as she got behind me and looped her arms around mine so she could drag me backwards. I tried to see where she was taking us, but it only made my head spin.

Eventually, my back hit something cold, and I lost the ability to breathe for a second. "Not quite," Riley said with an out-of-breath huff as she propped me upright. I moved my head a little and saw that we were pressed against the front of the van. The van the Rawheads used to kidnap their victims.

Riley clambered onto the bumper and then onto the hood. She looped her arms around me again and heaved, somehow dragging me up the front of the van and partially onto the hood. The room blurred out for a second before filtering back into focus. Riley settled one boot on the hood and braced the other against a metal support beam set right next to the van, pulling me fully off the ground.

Her boot was braced against a thick black cord attached to the beam, and the metal bracket securing the thick cord snapped, which sent her foot sliding across the front of the beam. Losing her balance, the four or five inches of progress Riley had made with getting me off the ground went zooming in reverse. My feet hit the ground, sending shockwaves of pain rippling up my stomach and spinal cord into my brain, and I passed out.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was draped across the top of the van, and Riley was nowhere to be seen. Oh, and it was absolutely pouring down rain in icy droplets. Awesome.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, and my fingers came away with a hot splash of red across them. Even better.

There was a growl from somewhere behind me, and I tilted my head back, squinting against the icy pellets showering my face. Riley burst through a swinging plastic curtain, a red fire axe clutched in her hands as she booked it across the flooded floor towards the van. Two hairy shapes burst through a second later, hot on her heels.

One of the Rawheads was running slower than the other, its entire chest and abdomen a mess of blood and hair.

Water splashed under Riley's feet with every step, but she never slowed, planting one foot on the bumper and heaving herself onto the hood of the car.

As soon as she landed, Riley planted her feet and swung the axe at the pillar. The blade slammed into the metal support beam, severing the thick black cord with a loud clang. Riley dropped the axe, her hand no doubt ringing with impact, and the axe went clattering to the floor. Without the bracket holding it against the beam, the bottom half of the cord snaked downwards, following the axe to the floor as it spit sparks, until it dropped into the water.

One of the Rawheads beat the instantaneous transmission of electricity across the flooded floor, clambering up the van's bumper with surprising alacrity. The injured Rawhead was not so lucky, convulsing into a muddled mess as the electricity fried it.

Riley met the other Rawhead with a boot in the chest, sending it reeling. She kicked it again, and it went slipping and sliding off the hood onto the electrified floor, claws leaving stark grooves where it tried to grip the metal hood of the van.

Riley went still, staring down at the second convulsing Rawhead with her hands planted on her hips, breathing hard as the rain plastering her clothes to her body. Then she turned her head, glancing sideways at me. "There," she huffed. "Now they're dead."

"No shit," I wheezed. I held out my hand, wanting her to help me up. Riley scaled the windshield, slipping and sliding over the slick surface until she reached my side. But instead of helping me up, she knelt by me.

"You shouldn't move," she said, fingers probing gently at my stomach. Hot pain flashed through me, which meant that I was probably worse off than I thought.

I craned my head, trying to see the damage. All I saw was blood, and lots of it. "That's quite a lot of blood," I said weakly. Riley leaned over me, her own blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.

"Just means you ain't dead yet," she said, a hitch in her voice as she pressed her hands against my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. It hurt.

"Didn't this happen before?" I asked, through gasps of pain. "I might have to save us again."

"That's good," she coughed, fighting for breath as she swiped away a fresh trickle of blood from her mouth onto her sleeve. "You just lay there and go on being ironical." Riley stood, shucking off her hoodie and then her t-shirt. I averted my eye and tried very hard to keep my mind from going to places Riley wouldn't appreciate just yet. She pulled the hoodie back on, and knelt beside me, t-shirt in hand.

Then her fingers scrabbled at my belt. "Woah, woah, woah. Buy a guy dinner first," I joked. But Riley didn't laugh. I sobered, watching as she pulled the belt free with shaking hands. Oh yeah, Riley didn't like blood. She hated seeing it, touching it. And I was bleeding a lot. Just like I had last time before dropping into a coma.

I reached up and held her hand, noting the iciness of her fingers. She jumped, startled, then looked down at me. "You got this," I said. "Take a deep breath." She did.

"And let it out," I told her, only half joking as I teased her about the first time she'd stitched me up and had forgotten to breathe. A tiny grin skated across her lips before she was back to business.

"I'm going to put the belt under you," she told me, shoving one end under my side. I tried to lift my back a little to let the belt slide under, but doing so caused fresh pain to rip through my stomach. Damn, that hurt. But it was done, and Riley was yanking the end free on my other side. She folded her t-shirt into a square and placed it right over the wound on my stomach. Then she cinched the belt tight.

I gasped, trying to breathe through the pain. Riley swiped a hand over her face, flinging water droplets off as she looked out over the room. "There's water everywhere," I said finally, when I had my breath back.

"Yes there is," she replied evenly.

"Pretty smart," I told her, wondering how she came up with the idea to electrify the whole floor.

"I saw it on an episode of Teen Wolf," she said with a shrug, explaining without me having to ask.

My mind went blank for a second. She'd gotten the idea from a TV show? Holy hell. How was she still alive? "Did it work for them?" I asked, slightly numb.

"Not really," she admitted. "But that was only 'cause the bad guys killed the electricity." She folded her hands in front of her mouth, blowing on them and rubbing her fingers together. Then she pulled out her gun from the back of her jeans.

And how are we going to kill the electricity? was my next question. The van's rubber tires were protecting us right now. But as soon as we got off the van and onto the ground, any contact with the thin layer of water across the concrete floor would fry us just as quickly as it had the Rawheads.

Riley rose to one knee, raising her gun with grim determination. Then she started to shoot. I craned my neck back, trying to see where she was shooting. Oh, I got it.

There was an electrical panel on the far wall. Well, pieces of one anyhow. Riley was blowing it to hell. The door swung slightly, a myriad of bullet holes piercing it, and then the lights went off. And the sprinklers.

Darkness reigned for a long moment, then I heard Riley move. Bright light cut across my face, blinding me. "Jeez," I hissed, throwing a hand up as I squinted against it. Her phone. Riley was using her phone's camera flash for light. It was bright and piercing, but the light didn't travel very far.

"You think it's safe?" Riley whispered, leaning over the edge of the van with the light. She looked at the gun in her hand and then tossed it into the water below. There were no sparks or zapping noises. Nothing.

"Yeah, it's probably safe," I breathed, wondering how I'd gotten so lucky with such a badass girlfriend. She'd just taken out two Rawheads with half a plan, an abandoned mill, and a fire axe. "You're really something, you know that?"

She turned back to me, the light flashing over my stomach as she checked the makeshift bandage. "I have my moments," she said. "Now. Let's blow this popsicle stand." I sat up slowly, and Riley eased me down the windshield and across the hood. "Also, where'd you park? 'Cause I took a taxi here, and I don't think he waited."

We made it out to the car, both of us shivering in the cold. Riley got me into the passenger side then ran back into the mill. A few minutes later, she reappeared, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Sliding into the driver's seat, she turned the car on threw the car into gear, and we made a beeline for the motel.

Riley stripped the blankets off my bed, laying down the cheap motel towels before letting me on it. I settled backwards with a groan, and then she went to work. Her face was blank the entire time she sewed the gashes on my stomach. But her hands were steady, and that was what counted.

I studied her through the happy haze of pain pills as she worked. Her face might have been blank, but her eyes were rife with turmoil. I could literally see her having an intense back-and-forth mental conversation with herself. She internalized everything, unlike me.

I didn't say anything, though, because she was concentrated and in the zone. I'd ask her later, when there was no more blood to look at and no more gaping slashes to stitch up.

When Riley finished, she peeled off her bloody gloves, grabbed her duffel bag, and disappeared into the bathroom. She was in there for a while, but when she came out, everything seemed back to normal with her. So that was good at least.

"Whatcha thinking about?" I asked, still hazy.

"Nothing," she murmured, draping a long bandage across my stomach and taping it on.

"Liar," I challenged. "You were thinking it's a shame that I'm gonna have even more scars across my rock hard abs." Her mouth dropped open from sheer shock value, but then the corners of her eyes crinkled in genuine mirth. Boom. Levity. Mission accomplished.

She gave a little snort. "You do have nice abs," she commented. Then she dropped the tape into the med kit and settled crosslegged on her bed. I propped an arm behind my head, gazing over at her.

Riley dropped an elbow onto her thigh and settled her chin onto her hand. "I was thinking about Jemma," she finally admitted. Oh. Well, that escalated quickly.

My eyes got heavy, and I yawned. "It'll be okay," I promised. My eyes slipped closed. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it together." Riley said nothing. I cracked my eyes open with monumental effort. "Right?" I prodded.

Riley blinked non-committally at me, chin still propped in her hand. Her mouth tugged down into a little frown. "No," she said softly. "I don't think so."

I wanted to ask her what that meant, but I couldn't. My body went limp, and my eyes slid shut again. Sleep rippled over my brain in a fuzzy wave, but Riley's words still echoed in my mind.

"_I don't think so." _

What the hell did that mean?


	7. Storms

Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, and Bobby are not my characters.

A/N: I am so sorry about the F-bombs in this chapter. I hope that doesn't offend anyone. They're just so vehement, it's hard to find a suitable replacement. Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

**FINN**

Riley had left me a note.

A fucking note.

When I woke up, Riley was gone. Her stuff nowhere to be seen. Clothes, gone. Laptop, gone. Big red rubber boots, gone. Her bed was neatly made, and on the covers was her sketchbook, open to a page that had her careful handwriting on it and nothing else.

"Damn it," I growled remembering her odd comment last night. I struggled upright, feeling the stitches tug at my side. Then I reached out and scooped up the sketchbook.

_Finn_, it said, _I don't know what you promised Dean, but I have a pretty good idea. And I can't do it. I can't make you choose between me and Jemma. Mika called me early this morning, saying that Jemma was getting ready to make her move. I won't say much more, but know this: I'm not going to kill her. I'll figure something else out. You know I will. Don't try to track my phone, I didn't bring that one. I'll call you in a few days with a new one. I'm sorry. I know you'll be mad, but I couldn't make you do it. Love, Riley_

The _Love, Riley_ was crossed out and replaced with _Don't hate me, Riley_. And after that was the post script. _P.S. I left money for food/transportation on the the table along with the med kit and antibiotics. DO NOT tear your stitches. Also, I took my car. You should probably find out where the heck you left yours pre-coma._

I stared at the note. Then I ripped the page out of the sketchbook and crumpled it in anger. After I calmed down, I smoothed the paper out carefully and read it again.

Damn it. That stupid, stupid girl. She was going to get herself killed. I flung the note aside and stood up, slamming my fist into the wall with an angry yell. Then I fanned my hand, hissing in pain. The wound on my stomach hurt, too, but I was too furious to care.

Stomping to the table, I found a couple hundred bucks. There was a glass of water next to a pill bottle full of antibiotics. I shook one out and tossed it back in my throat, following it with the water. Then I saw the last item on the table.

An icepack.

_In case you punched something_, was scribbled on a napkin, complete with a little arrow pointing to the icepack. I growled, swiping the note off the table and onto the floor. But I broke the capsule inside the icepack and dropped it onto my hand as it became cold, nevertheless.

Turning back to the room, I cast one more desperate look around. Nothing. There was nothing except her freaking sketchpad.

I sank down on the edge of my bed again, running a hand through my hair. There had to be a way to find her before she got herself killed.

My eyes settled on the sketchpad, and I pulled it over, flipping to the beginning. The first page was blank, a stark warning that what lay ahead was not going to be pretty. I flipped past it, taking in the sketches of dead vampires.

I could have skipped that section, but I forced myself to look. Riley had been forced to kill for me, so I could damn well do her the justice of seeing just what she'd had to go through on my behalf.

Intermingled within the pages of vampires was Mika. Mika reading a book. Mika sleeping. Mika laughing. Mike smiling. Over and over Riley had drawn her. Riley was right; Mika looked like me. I traced a finger over one of the sketches, wondering if Mika was as fucked up as I was. But no, Riley had said Mika was still good, not twisted and changed by Jemma yet.

I kept flipping, seeing Riley's depictions of Jemma. She'd drawn them spot on, capturing Jemma's coldness with ease. When I got to the last drawing, I stopped.

Jemma was staring up at me, a familiar look haunting her face. I knew that expression, knew it all too well. Riley had said that Jemma had threatened to hurt her family. If Jemma had, then this was the expression she would have worn when she'd done it. There was death in her eyes. Death and vengeance. Whatever Jemma had said to Riley, she'd meant it.

Which made it all the more important for me to find Riley before she went up against Jemma.

I studied the picture for another second, fighting back a cold shudder, and a slight smudge on the corner of the page caught my eyes. It looked like something had been written and then erased. Two words. They were too faint to make out, but there was a slight impression in the paper where they'd been written.

Scrounging up a pencil, I shaded ever so lightly over the area, revealing slight white areas where the paper was indented. Kuebel Investigations. That was a start.

A quick Google search revealed that there was a Kuebel Investigations a little more than an hour away in a place called Springfield. It was too close to have been coincidental, so I packed the room up and went looking for a car.

I found one near a bar. Staking the place out, I remembered giving Riley a few pointers about stealing cars from around bars. Brushing the memory aside, I picked a mark and made good on my pointers, driving out of the parking lot in an old Honda. It was nothing special, but it would get me where I wanted to go.

Of course, during the drive, I had nothing but time and silence to agonize and obsess over where Riley could be or what my mother could be doing to her. On the ruthlessness scale, Riley was a low three, and Jemma was pretty much an eleven. So basically, my drive was hell.

Kuebel Investigations didn't have an address, so I combed through the city blocks until I found it. It was a good thing I found it when I did, because I wasn't far from exploding.

Parking the car, I made my way to the unobtrusive entrance. Rick Kuebel, private investigator. There it was, right on the door. I glanced around one last time before pushing my way into the shop.

A man sat at the front desk. He was ex-military, I could immediately tell by the way his body was coiled loosely in a deceptively relaxed stance. That was him then, Rick Kuebel. He put down the newspaper he was pretending to read and stood. No pleasantries, no welcome.

We both knew I wasn't a customer.

"Where is he?" I grated out, my patience so far from gone.

Rick stepped forward, arms corded with muscle crossing his chest as his eyes measured me. Recognition flared in his eyes, but he shook his head. The message was clear. He wouldn't tell.

I took a step forward. He smiled. Then I cocked my fist back and smashed it into his face.

It felt good, beating the shit out of someone. Of course, maybe that was exaggerating. He gave as good as he got.

I kneed him in the face. He slammed my head into the glass counter.

I knocked him on his ass. He took me down with a leg sweep.

I put him in an arm bar. He punched me in the groin.

By the time the two of us staggered to our feet, he was spitting out blood and I had blood dripping into my eye from the cut above my eyebrow. Plus I'd torn my stitches.

He came at me again, this time wrapping me in a wrestling stance. He would have taken me to the floor and won, right then and there, but I changed the game. He came to a stop, still wrapped around my waist.

I clicked the safety off my gun with a flick of my thumb.

"Jesus Christ," he growled. "What is it with you kids and pointing guns at my balls?"

I nudged him with the gun in response.

"Arthur," he called to the back room. "It's for you." Then he let go and backed up, hands raised.

I kept the gun trained on him and probed my bleeding side with my free hand, wincing at the blood. Crap. Riley would be pissed I'd torn my stitches. It took me a second to realize that Riley wasn't going to be pissed about anything. She was gone.

A second later, a soft squeak sounded from the back room and the mysterious "Arthur" appeared in a wheelchair. He didn't look like me, didn't look like Mika. But there were some features we shared.

I hated it.

"You must be Finn," he said, voice soft in comparison to Jemma's steel. His hands were settled in his lap, fingers steepled. He looked like a friggin' therapist that was trying to analyse me.

"I'm not here to talk about me," I growled, hating the horrible knot of pain that was unfurling in my chest. I didn't want to feel this way. I didn't know this man. He didn't have the right to evoke this kind of response. "The girl who was here a few days ago. I need to find her."

His brow wrinkled. "You need to find her?"

I shook my head. "_You _need to find her. And don't give me some bullshit about not being able to. I know you can." If Mika had found Arthur for Riley, then Arthur could find Riley for me.

Arthur's jaw twitched. "I don't think you understand how my gift works. I can't just—" He dropped off as his face went slack. His blue eyes went slightly out of focus, and I knew he wasn't seeing me or this room. He was somewhere else.

Then, just as suddenly, his eyes jerked back into focus.

When he met my gaze again, his expression was solemn and just a little bit taken aback. "Quantico. She's in Quantico, Virginia."

I blanched. Quantico. That was a Marine base. What the hell was she doing there?

Arthur looked at me, clearly ill at ease. Yeah, old man. That made two of us.

"If you're lying to me…" I began.

He shook his head. "I'm not," he said shortly. Then he rubbed his face, looking sick. "I...I didn't know." I stared at him impassively. "I didn't know about you or Mika. I had no idea what Jemma was up to. I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies, old man," I said stiffly.

Hurt sparked in his eyes, and behind me, Rick bristled. I didn't care. There was so much pain in my chest that I couldn't think about anything but leaving here. And the only thing that really mattered right now was Riley.

Riley meant something to me. Meant everything to me. This man in front of me was nothing but a sperm donor.

I turned to go, but he stopped me with a quiet, "Wait."

I turned back, face tight. God, I felt like something was stomping my heart to pieces. I had wanted a father for so long, and now that I was faced with the actual thing, all I felt was disappointment.

"When you find Riley, will you tell her that I'll do it? I'll meet Mika. I'll train her. I'll help her however I can. Whatever I have to do." His face was so full of regret and pain that I swallowed my sarcastic response and just nodded. Then Arthur drew himself up, his face hardening. "And if Jemma comes after Mika, well...whatever I have to do."

I was surprised by that. He looked like a nice person. Kind, approachable. But there was a hidden fire in him, too. He actually meant what he was saying.

"Okay," I said softly, my throat closing up painfully.

I turned to go. Again, he stopped me. "And Finn?" he said. I didn't turn around, didn't want what was coming. "If you want to talk, about anything, I'll be here for you too."

I closed my eyes, sucking in a breath. Then I let it out, hunching my shoulders and pushing out into the cold air.

Quantico was a six hour drive. I made it, even though my side hurt and the cut on my forehead occasionally started bleeding every once in a while. Riley had nearly a day's head start on me, but that didn't matter. I would find her, whatever it took.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Riley was a tricky bugger when she didn't want to be found. I started casing motels. There were a lot in the towns surrounding Quantico. It took me the better part of the day and most of the night to find what I was looking for.

Six towns and three cities later, and I spotted my quarry. Riley's battered Honda was sitting outside the thirty-fourth motel that I had checked.

From there, it was a simple task of checking the windows of the two closest rooms in front of her car. One was dark and uninhabited. The other had the light on. I picked the lock easily. Then I knocked and opened the door, not wanting to be shot or stabbed right off the bat.

Riley was up on one knee, one hand steadying herself on the bed while clutching her G.I. Joe knife, and the other hand loosely holding her gun, which was steadily trained on my chest. Even though exhaustion was written in every line of her face, the gun never wavered.

Her knuckles were split and bruised, swollen twice their normal size. It was a wonder she could even hold the gun as tightly as she did.

One eye was black and mostly swollen shut, and the other stared at me with undisguised annoyance.

She was fine. Thank God, she was fine. The constant knot of worry in my stomach untied itself, and tension I hadn't been aware of leached out of my shoulders. Then something occurred to me.

"Jemma?" I choked out.

A flicker of disgust crossed Riley's face, quickly hidden away. "I took care of it. She won't be bothering my family anymore."

Her delivery was cold, almost clinical. I closed my eyes, stomach turning at my next thought. "Did you kill her?"

Riley was silent for a long moment. I waited, eyes closed for bad news. "No," she said finally. My eyes shot open, and I searched her face.

"What did you do?" I asked, stomach twisting. Riley glanced up at me balefully through heavy eyes. "Ri, what did you do?" I demanded more sharply.

Her eyes narrowed. "She tried to kill me, Finn. I was choking up blood because she put a freaking hex bag under my bed. I had to call the Winchesters to find out why my insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart. Once I did, I tracked down Jemma, and we had a talk," she said coldly.

Judging by the state of her hands and face, I'd guess the "talk" was more physical than verbal.

"So where is she?" I asked, still feeling the twist of unease in my stomach.

Riley shrugged. "Somewhere where she can't hurt anyone else. Mika helped me find her, and then I used an old Winchester trick. Sam came up with it a long time ago. It's the best way to deal with psycho Hunters. His trick worked. Of course, I spiced it up a little, by sneaking onto a military base and all."

What the hell was she talking about? I was dumbfounded. Instead of explaining, though, Riley put her knife away and laid down on her side, back facing me.

"Damn it, Riley," I snapped, striding over and yanking at her shoulder to get her to face me. She faced me alright, but her fist came exploding out of nowhere, smashing into my jaw. I stumbled back, the blow disorientating me for a second.

"What the hell was that for?" I asked, pissed, as I rubbed my jaw.

"You…" she spat, fury twisting her face. "You do not get to come here and judge me. It's your psycho mother. Your psychic sister."

"Judge yo...I'm not fucking judging you! I was the one who wanted to deal with this together. Remember? You and I are a team," I yelled back, just as hotly.

"You love her, Finn. Despite all the shit she put you through, she's your mom and you still love her," Riley yelled back, balling her fists at her side. "I'm not going to be the one who forces you to choose."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she slumped, looking down at her damaged hands. When she spoke again, her voice was rough and broken. "I'm not gonna make you frickin' chose between your own mother and your week-long girlfriend."

Anger swelled inside me, driving out the last shreds of my self-control. Riley was right. No matter how I fought the feelings, how I hated to admit it...she was right. I still loved Jemma in some fucked up way.

Red suffused my vision as the anger rode through me like a wave. Another trait I'd gotten from Jemma; once I snapped, I was bound to completely loose my head. "Yeah?" I countered, the volume going up another notch. "Well, I love you too. Did you ever fucking think of that?"

Riley's mouth snapped shut, and she looked as if someone had just slapped her. The breath sawed in and out of my chest, slowing and then stopping altogether as I realized what I'd just yelled.

Oh, shit. The L-word.

Riley looked dumbfounded. "You...love me?" Her face was perfectly impassive for a few seconds before it morphed into something far more dark. "You love me?"

The yelling was gone. Now her voice was just dangerous and cold. "You love me?" she repeated, standing mere inches from me now. I almost wished she'd just go back to yelling. This side of her was worse.

"You don't even know me," she screamed, slamming two hands into my chest and shoving me away. Or tried to, at least. As it was, I just kind of rocked back on my heels. "How can you love me when we barely know each other? This isn't a Disney movie. This is real life, Finn. You can't fucking love someone when you've only known them for a couple of weeks."

Riley's chest was heaving, and her face was red as she finished yelling. Then silence fell. She took a step back, fists balled at her side as she literally shook with anger. Then all of a sudden it was gone. She reeled back her anger, reeled back her emotions, and dropped a wall in front of them. It scared me. It scared me more than I cared to admit.

"Get out," she said, deadly calm.

I stared back at her, icy pain spreading in my chest.

"Get. Out." Her voice was slow and dark.

I turned around and walked out, not bothering to close the door behind me.

I walked in long strides to the check-in desk, my head little more than a floating ball of numbness. I paid for a room, knowing that Riley wouldn't truly leave. She looked like shit, which meant she was holed up and giving herself time to heal.

That was fine. It would give me time to re-evaluate and fix the rift between us.

I got the room next to Riley's, requesting it more to keep an eye on her than some stalkerish inability to honor her insistence on being alone.

Dumping my army rucksack on the floor, I fell onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had messed this one up. Messed it up big time. You weren't supposed to pull the "I love you" card out of thin air. You didn't spring it on a girl this early in the relationship.

It was par for the course, really. Just another thing that I had managed to fuck up. Sighing, I threw an arm over my eyes. I allowed myself to wallow for a minute before sitting up again.

Fishing Riley's phone from my pocket, I dialed Sam Winchester's number. Riley had both of the Winchester brothers' numbers, but I had already talked to Dean, and I thought maybe Sam would be a little more agreeable and forthcoming. Plus, Riley had said she used a Sam Winchester trick.

"Riley? What's wrong?" came the sleepy greeting.

"This is Finn," I said. "Nothing's wrong."

There was a long silence. Then, "You're with her? Is everything okay? After the hex bag, I mean." God, the concern in his voice made my heart shrivel. I don't think I ever had anyone that invested in my well being before. Except Riley, maybe.

I wasn't prepared for that, and I had to think about it for a minute. Then of course, I lied. "Yeah, Riley's fine. Everything is great."

More silence. Then a snort. "Yeah, whatever you say, kid." It wasn't condescending, though. More like an offer to talk.

I tried for the world to say something, but my mind kept spinning back to Riley's words. _I took care of it_, she'd said, _Jemma won't be bothering my family anymore_. My mouth dried up and the blood pounded in my head.

Eventually, Sam got it. "Finn," he said quietly. "What did Riley do?"

"I don't know," I choked out, my throat threatening to close up. "I don't fucking know. She looks like she put in ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and she broke into Quantico. All she said was that she and Jemma had a talk, and that she used your trick for taking care of psycho Hunters."

Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then he swore. "Finn, have you ever heard of a Hunter named Gordon Walker?"

I thought back, and I could remember Jemma vaguely mentioning him when I was little. "He Hunted vampires a lot, didn't he?"

"Yeah. And he was insane. Tried to kill Dean and I. So I called the cops on him. They searched his car and found his Hunting gear." Sam cleared his throat. "Finn, they arrested him and he went to prison."

I froze, stunned.

Prison.

Riley had framed Jemma for something to put her in prison. And she'd done it on a military base. Any weapons or evidence found could be seen as part of a terrorist plot.

"That's why she was on a military base," I said numbly. "Jemma must have followed her in and gotten arrested." With military resources and a record like Jemma's, it wouldn't be hard to tie her to half a dozen crimes.

Holy Hell. Riley had survived a hex bag, broken onto a military base, and framed Jemma—presumably all in the forty-eight hours that it had taken me to track her down.

"Finn, I never told Riley about Gordon. Not anything specific, anyways."

I shook my head, dazed enough that I forgot he couldn't see it. "No," I reiterated. "You didn't have to. Mika's psychic."

I slumped, dropping my head onto a hand and rubbing my eyes. Sam let out a small groan, and I could picture him doing the exact same thing as we both tried to wrap our brains around the situation.

Someone said something on Sam's end. I could hear it just enough to make out Dean's voice. Sam murmured softly back with what turned into quite the lengthy explanation, and then he must have put me on speaker.

"How the hell did two completely inexperienced girls, in completely different states, with completely different backgrounds, manage to pull off a freakin' frame job?" Dean uttered loudly, slamming what sounded to be his hand down on the table.

We all fell silent. "It's Riley," Sam said after a while. Which pretty much summed it all up.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said, sounding halfway impressed. Another moment of respectful silence passed. Then we were back to business. "Did Riley ever gank the witch that made the hex bag for Jemma?"

My stomach twisted again. "I don't know," I said. "I'll find out."

"Yeah, you do that," Dean said bitingly.

"Dude," Sam admonished.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean growled, and footsteps sounded as he probably walked away.

There was a noise as Sam picked up the phone, and I could tell we were off speaker phone. "It was bad, Finn. Riley didn't know about hex bags. She didn't understand what was happening to her. I've never heard her that scared before."

I was silent, waiting for an accusation. But it never came. Instead, Sam sighed. "Riley...Riley's not like most Hunters. She's smart. She's not in it for revenge or bloodlust. Finn, she's going to be better than most, maybe even one of the best." He paused. "If she lives long enough."

"I know," I told him. And I did. Riley wasn't a normal Hunter. She was unorthodox. She was careful. She was creative. She was intelligent. Improvisation was her forte. She was beyond petty grievances and bloody revenge. She was beyond simple redneck hunt-and-kill.

Riley had the potential to be one of the best. I knew it. Sam and Dean knew it. Even Bobby knew it, of all people.

Sam cleared his throat again, sounding tired as he spoke. "We tried to keep her out of this, Dean and I. Tried to convince her not to Hunt. Didn't work. Trouble seemed to have a way of finding her. She's in it. She's all in. You know that better than anyone."

Boy, did I know. Riley didn't do things halfway. Wasn't in her nature.

"Finn. You have to stay with her. Keep her alive until she learns what she needs to protect herself. You have to teach her everything you know. You have to watch her back, because she doesn't know this lifestyle like we do."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I will. I'll keep her safe."

"Good," Sam said. "Call me if...just call me. Or Bobby."

"Will do." I tossed the phone aside after hanging up. Then I tucked my hands under my head, pondering my situation.

Riley needed space. I needed time to think.

I'd give her the night. Then I was checking in on her, whether she like it or not.

Because, I meant what I'd said. I fucking Loved her. Loved. Capital L.


	8. And So It Begins

A/N: I think this is the last chapter. We'll see. I'm kind of out of inspiration. If anyone has a monster-of-the-week for Riley to go after, let me know!

* * *

**RILEY**

"_You tried to kill me," I hissed. _

_Jemma's eyes glittered and she smirked. "Not kill. Just a little witchy torture. There's nothing like retching up your insides to make a girl talk. It's nothing personal, dear." _

_But it was. I could see it in her eyes. I'd hidden her daughter, and it was very personal for her. I shook my head, refusing to be cowed even though I had been on the floor choking up blood only a few hours ago. _

_I stared, feeling nothing but coldness towards her. "You will never find Mika, never misuse her ability. You will not screw up her head like you did with Finn."_

_Something flickered in her eyes. I didn't know what. "Where is my son, anyway?" _

_I shrugged. "I didn't tell him where I was. He doesn't need to be here when I deal with you." _

_She tipped back her head and laughed. But her eyes held none of the laughter. "Deal with me? You're a child. Pray tell how are you going to 'deal' with me?" _

_I stretched my arms above my head, hearing my shoulders pop slightly. Then I gave Jemma a "devil may care" grin. _

"_The old fashioned way," I said, flinging myself at her. _

_Jemma was a good fighter. She was strong and experienced. A lot like Finn, really. Which is why I was able to stay one step ahead of her. I was fast. Really fast, I guess. Finn had mentioned it once, in an offhanded comment. I never really understood why it mattered until he'd taken me to the gym to spar. _

_Being able to take a hit was great. Being able to deal a hit out was better. But being fast enough to avoid the first and do the second was the best. _

_Jemma hammered me with blows, but I was fast enough to get my arms up to take the worst of the blunt force. I was fast enough to smash hit after hit into her face and side. I was relentless, hitting the same three spots. Side of the head. Across the jaw. Right side. When she protected one area, I moved on to the next. Fast, precise, painful. _

_Jemma swung at me. She was getting tired. Blood dripped down her face as she panted, and I jabbed a right hook into her nose. She took the hit and reeled back, disoriented. She swung at me, and I ducked, pile-driving her to the floor. Then it was free game on her face until she yanked my hair and kicked me off of her. _

_I staggered upright and backed away. She came up on one knee, and we both paused, panting. I was hurting and tired. She was hurting and tired. I hadn't anticipated the fight lasting this long. _

"_I told you to leave my family alone," I said, spitting blood out with my words. _

_Jemma sneered, looking like she wanted to murder me through a haze of blood and sweaty hair. "I left them alone. I haven't done anything," she spat back, just as venomous. _

_I shook my head. "Mika saw it. You were going to hurt them." _

_She looked slightly alarmed for a mere second before a broken laugh lilted out of her mangled mouth. "She was right. I was going to start with your mother. I was going to—"_

_I pulled my gun, training it on her head. She dropped off quickly, probably realizing the precarious position she was in. "I thought we were doing this the old fashioned way?" Jemma mocked me. _

_Rage burned through me, but I pulled it back. This was not the time to be stupid. "My family," I ground out, finally. "My Finn. My Mika. They don't deserve your taint." _

_Jemma tilted her head at me, then she laughed again. This time it was genuine. "You come in here with your big words and your gun, but you don't have the balls to pull the trigger." _

_She was right. I didn't kill humans. Still couldn't make myself. But that was fine. I didn't need to kill her. _

_I took a step towards her, and she eyed me speculatively. I kicked out, catching the side of her head with my boot, and she tipped over onto the floor with a thump. I leaned over her, face twisting with derision. "I don't have to kill you, bitch. I've got something better planned." _

_After I left Jemma in the motel room, I called her phone and left a vaguely threatening message. Hurt my family and I'll kill you, blah blah blah. It was a bluff, and she'd know it the second she heard it. No, what I really wanted Jemma to take away from it was my phone number. And I wanted her to trace my cell phone, like any self-respecting criminal would, and come find me. Probably with the intent of killing me. Or at least torturing the information out of me. _

_During the waiting period, I staked out a diner. "Last Chance Diner" to be exact. It was the last diner before entering the military base. I ordered a coffee, watching Marines and civilians drive up and park. I watched them eat and gauged what kind of people they were. _

_I didn't have to wait long. _

_My phone vibrated, and I read the text. _White truck go now_, was all it said. I stood up and paid for my coffee. Then I went out to the parking lot and climbed into the bed of the truck, pulling a tarp over myself._

_When the truck went through the gates, I waited to be discovered. But Mika's intel had been correct. The gate guards did the mandatory ID check, saluted the ranking officer with a snap of their heels, and let him through with an inquiry of how his fishing trip was. _

_The truck wound through the streets before parking. I peeked out, scanning the area before easing my way over the tailgate and dropping to the pavement. Then I booked it to my intended target. _

_It was a park. Kind of. I shivered against the cool drizzle of rain, wishing I'd had the forethought to bring a raincoat instead of just a hoodie. But no, I hadn't. So I just hunkered down in the treeline and waited for Jemma to track my whereabouts. At least no one else was out here bringing kids to play. _

_Waiting was bad. Not just because I was cold and wet, but because it gave me time to think. My body hurt. I had taken some pretty nasty hits in the fight with Jemma, and my hands were a mangled mess. There was a reason bare-knuckle boxers had hideous hands. My knuckles were swollen and discolored. Every time I did anything with the fingers of my right hand, my knuckles moved with a squishy grind. Yuck. _

_Aside from the pain, I was left with my thoughts. I had been choking up blood earlier today. My stomach had felt like shards of glass were mincing it to ribbons. The sheer terror that had flooded me came back for a second, turning me into a whimpering puddle of goo against the loamy ground. _

_It took a while to snap out of it. The hex bag is gone, I reminded myself again and again. You burned it. Still, there was nothing quite like feeling your own imminent mortality and not having any idea what was happening._

_I shuddered at the thought and pushed those useless, terrifying memories out of my brain. I had to focus. I had to plan what I was going to say when Jemma showed up. _

_By the time Jemma's old muscle car rolled into view, I was stiff and tired and mentally exhausted. The terror from earlier had flooded back twice more, leaving me a shaking mess for a period of time. I think it was some kind of PTSD. _

_When I saw Jemma, though, it was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to finish this. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number I had carefully researched. A person answered, I made my voice scared and breathless. _

"_There's a woman on the base. She has a gun, and she's pacing around, ranting about the bomb in her car. I don't know what to do. Please send help!" I pulled my gun from under my shirt and fired two rounds at Jemma's feet. Then I yelped into the phone. "Oh my gosh, she's shooting at me! Hurry!" _

_Jemma spun, pulling her own gun as she searched for the source of the shots. I ripped out the battery and sim card of the phone, shoving the pieces in my pocket as I laid on the ground, completely hidden by the line of trees._

_Sirens sounded as Military police flooded the area, all yelling and pointing weapons at Jemma. She spun in a tight circle, realizing what was happening before putting her hands up in surrender. _

_They put her in handcuffs. I shivered against the wet ground, but waited it out. This was too good to miss. Jemma struggled for a brief second then stopped, perhaps realizing it was going to hurt her case in the long run. As they stood with her, her head swiveled around, searching for me. I wish I could have been closer to see her face, because there was a small part of me that reveled in what I was doing. But I wasn't stupid. If the MPs found me now, I'd be arrested too. No amount of gloating would be worth that. _

_A man in a giant bombsquad suit carefully searched Jemma's car with a trained dog, and there was even more shouting and lights as they found what looked like a pipe bomb under the passenger seat. _

_Well, in all truth, it was a pipe bomb._

_I just hadn't armed it. Instead, I had prebuilt it by painstakingly following vaguely terrorist-y internet instructions, had pressed Jemma's fingers all over it when she was unconscious, had found her keys, and then had stashed it under the seat of her car before leaving her unconscious in her motel room. _

_The bombsquad found it and freaked out. Well, as much as any disciplined unit of Military Police can freak out. There was more yelling. Most of it denial on Jemma's part. But then they popped her trunk and found her arsenal inside. There wasn't a great lot she could do about that, denial or otherwise, as they dragged her off. _

_They were the Military. She was a Hunter. _

_As soon as they ran her fingerprints, they could probably tie her to some cold cases scattered around the country. That was the thing about Hunters. There was a reason they tended to leave town and not come back. Murder wasn't as easily proved as most people thought. But kill enough monsters, and you're bound to leave evidence somewhere. _

_I just hoped the Military would be as thorough as my tax dollars would allow and get the job done. _

_Long after the MPs had left, I eased myself upright. I was soaked to the bone, in a great deal of pain, and exhausted. But it was worth it. It was so worth it. _

_Getting off the base wasn't nearly as hard as getting on. After all, the fences and cameras and guards were there to keep bad guys from getting in—not that it had worked with Jemma. I didn't even want to know how she'd wheedled her way in. I was pretty sure not even Jemma could fake a military ID. _

_Still, as I walked back to the diner on the side of the road, hunched miserably against the rain, I couldn't help but smile. It was done. They had Jemma. She couldn't hurt my family now. Couldn't hurt Mika. _

_Tipping my head back against the sky, I let out a long, cathartic sigh. Then I stopped smiling, because I remembered Finn. What was I going to tell him? How was I going to explain that I'd most likely put his mother in prison? _

_And the Winchesters. They were probably going to demand an update, after I had sprung the whole calling while I was dying and vomiting up blood thing on them. Luckily, Finn had my phone, and I'd disabled the phone with the only other number I'd ever called them from. So technically, I couldn't call them even if I wanted to. _

_Still, they had helped me. They deserved an explanation. _

_I reached my car, which was sitting forlornly in the rain. It was the last remaining car in the parking lot, and I rummaged in my pocket for the key. Once it was unlocked, I slumped down in the seat and shoved the wet strands of hair out of my face. _

_Okay, step one, find a motel. Step two, get some sleep. Step three…_

_I didn't want to think about step three yet. _

_So I found a motel. I stripped out of my wet clothes, changing into a pair of sweats and a shirt. Then I put my knife under my pillow and the gun on the nightstand. _

_I thought I'd just pass out. That's how tired I was. But sleep didn't come. I stared up at the ceiling wondering if I'd just condemned someone innocent to die because I'd taken Jemma out of the Hunting game. _

_But no. She'd have killed my family. She'd made that clear. So I had saved five people. Five people that meant the world to me. No, there was no room for guilt here. I'd done the right thing. _

_Hadn't I?_

_There was a slight sound at the door. I was on my knees in an instant, knife clutched in one hand and my gun trained at the door. A knock sounded out before the door swung open. _

_Finn. He'd found me. Only this time his face was twisted with fury. "What did you do, Riley?" he screamed at me, spittle flying. "What did you do?"_

_I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. This was all wrong. This wasn't how it had happened. _

_He advanced forward into the room, gun trained on me. There was hatred in his eyes, and I was terrified. _

_WHAT DID YOU DO? WHAT DID YOU DO? WHAT DID YOU DO?_

I jackknifed upright in the bed, screaming Finn's name before I could stop myself.

The door of my room burst open, and there he was in the flesh. Clad only in his boxers, with sleep mussed hair. Gray eyes flicked around the room with hard urgency, and they settled on me when he realized there was no danger.

His gun lowered, and he took a step inside, closing the door. It ground shut with a sad little groan, since he'd broken it in his rush to get in.

I clutched my head, trying to stop the hyperventilation and shaking that my dream had elicited. It didn't help.

Finn padded over, dropping his gun on the nightstand next to mine. Then he settled onto the bed and pulled me into a wordless hug, tugging me backwards until we were lying down.

I stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide. His skin was hot against mine, and there were a few raindrops scattered over him from the dash between rooms. I guess he'd taken the room next to mine, then, since he'd gotten here so quickly.

I didn't want to think about that meant. I didn't want to think about what I'd done to him. I didn't want to think about what he'd said to me and what I'd said in return.

I just wanted him to hold me, and I wanted to sleep. So I did. My eyes slid shut, and this time, my sleep was dreamless.

Finn was gone when I woke up. There was no note or anything, but I had to wonder if it was better this way, easier maybe.

Rubbing the crusties out of my eyes, I rolled over, searching for the time. The clock said it was almost dinner time. Wow, I'd slept for a long time. I pursed my lips, feeling a dozen aches and pains. I wasn't hungry enough to brave getting up, instead, I stared up at the ceiling, feeling numb.

Of course, that left me with nothing to do but think.

Finn had said he loved me.

Which, of course, showed that he didn't mean it in the way that the word "love" meant to me, because he'd literally woken up from a coma last week, and we'd only met a few times before that, and there was no possible way he could decide in a week that I was the girl he was going to love for the rest of his life.

Because...that was what love meant to me. It wasn't like in the movies or tv shows where one character could fall in and out of love based on the other characters' general availability. There were no love triangles, no love transference from person to person. Either it was love or it wasn't.

Oh gosh, I needed to talk to someone. There was no denying it. I needed to talk to someone who was outside this mixed up, backwards brain of mine. It would not be my mother. Which left me with very few viable options. Only one option, really. So I picked up my phone and dialed my best friend.

"He told me he loved me, Lib," I said slowly into my phone. It was a terrible "hello," but it was the first thing out of my mouth nonetheless.

There was silence. "Who said that? Finn?"

"Mh-hmm," I affirmed.

More silence. "Oh," Libby said in a small voice.

Libby and I had been facebook messaging about Finn for the better part of his coma. And she'd been one of the first people that I'd told about him waking up. Well, one of the only few people I'd told, really. So she would understand this and what a big deal it was, and then she would tell me what I was supposed to do about it.

That specific thought faltered a little. There had been a time when Libby knew me better than I even knew myself. She would give unsolicited advice whenever she felt like it, and she would almost always be right. But...but now was different. I wasn't the same girl I had been in high school. I was different. Darker, more violent, conniving, deceitful. I had to wonder if she even knew me at all, now.

"Well, maybe he does," Libby reasoned. "Trevor said he knew it within the first few months of meeting me. And now we've been dating for, like, five and half years."

I blinked, tears suddenly hot in my eyes. It had been randomly happening the past few hours since I'd woken up and found Finn gone, and I didn't like it. I hated crying. But I also hated the empty space where Finn should be. How was that for unhealthy emotional attachments?

"Yeah, but how long before he actually said it?" I asked, my voice a bare whisper. "Isn't there like a rule for that or something?"

Libby was quiet for a moment. "Eight months and four days. He said, and I quote, 'Libby, you are amazing and I think I love you' end quote. Of course, I had just given him the last piece of bacon, so really, how clinically accurate can his profession of love be?"

I snorted, scrubbing the tears away. Yeah, they were like a textbook example of a healthy, functional relationship. That would never be Finn and I, because A, I had never had a real relationship, and B, Finn's entire life practically screamed "dysfunctional."

"Okay, Ri, I love you, but I'm done beating around the bush. You're different," Libby said, stopping my thought process cold. "You maybe think you've hidden it, because we've mostly chatted with instant messenger instead of calling each other, but I can tell. Babe, you're not like Trevor and I. You will never be like Trevor and I."

I puzzled through that, trying to decide if she was snubbing me. But it was Libby, and I knew she was just stating a fact. Plus, she was right. "What Trevor and I have is...apple pie, okay? Apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Plain, solid, predictable. But that's okay, because for us, that works. That works really, really well."

She paused, and I knew she'd be chewing on her lip and deciding her next words carefully. That was just who Libby was. "You aren't going to settle for pie, Riley. Even in high school, I saw that. What Trevor and I have would kill you. You need more, you need a relationship that's not just based on a calm, steady day-to-day life. You, Riley Ann Stewart, are my best friend, and I can one hundred percent, confidently say that you are meant for so much more than apple pie and vanilla ice cream."

I choked out a laugh, and Libby became serious again. "Ri," she said softly, "the way you talk about Finn is the way I talk about Trevor. So just...maybe give it a try, okay? Because if you don't, you're always going to wonder 'what if?'"

"I...I don't know. That's a big decision, you know?" I said, my tongue thick. It _was_ a big decision. It meant putting my heart on the line, putting it out there to possibly be broken.

"Well," Libby said lightly. "That's the funny thing about decisions, you know? You don't usually need to talk yourself into the right one. Just take it one day at a time." She paused. "Okay. That'll be thirty five dollars for this session. Please give the receptionist your billing information on the way out."

I stared up at the ceiling, tearing up again. Oh my God. I loved her. I loved her so much in that moment. I laughed, missing my best friend like crazy. "You're one hell of a psychiatrist," I told her, remembering a certain Winchester who'd also told me to take things one day at a time. It was sound advice.

"I am my parents' daughter," she crowed back. There was a knock on her end. "Oh, that's Trevor. It's date night. Talk to you later, love you!" She was gone so fast, I didn't even have the chance to thank her. I didn't really have to, though. She knew.

I set the phone down on the nightstand, chewing on my lip.

Eventually, my eyes grew heavy again. That's what hardcore thinking gets a girl, tired and headache-y.

_One day at a time_, I thought with a yawn. Now if Finn would just forgive me for freaking out, then maybe I could handle that.

There was a noise at the door. I pulled my gun off the nightstand and pointed it at the door without bothering to look. But it was just Finn, prying the door open. I set my gun down again.

He had on considerably more clothes this time. That was both kind of nice and kind of disappointing.

Wordlessly, he shucked off his shoes and shirt but left his jeans on. Then he laid down next to me, opening his arm. It was a harmless invitation on the surface, but I understood what it would mean if I accepted.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out. Then I leaned forward a little bit. He slid his arm around me, and I settled my head back against his shoulder. This was nice. It felt right, with us, here like this.

"You tore your stitches," I told him finally, as it was the only thing I could think of to say.

He glanced down at his side, where the new white bandage had a few spots of blood seeping through, not seeming very concerned. "Got in a fight with Rick Kuebel."

I yawned, eyelids feeling like they carried the weight of the world on them. "Did you win?"

Finn shifted slightly. "Pointed my gun at his balls. He backed off."

A warm, sleepy haze settled over me, and I giggled then, unable to stop myself. "Hah! Me too."

Finn planted a kiss on the side of my head. "He was quite put out, having his manhood threatened twice in one week."

"He'll get over it," I murmured.

"Most likely," Finn said agreeably.

"Goodnight," I hummed, closing my eyes.

Finn didn't answer. Or maybe I just missed it. But that was okay, because we were together. I was going to do this relationship thing. With Finn. There was something between us, it was undeniable. And I didn't want him to be a "what if?"

I pried my eyes open one last time. "And so it begins," I told him.

He murmured something back, but I definitely missed it this time. My mind slipped under a warm haze, and I fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

The end.


	9. Epilogue

A/N: This is kind of a teaser that will probably, maybe lead into my next story. I'm thinking about possibly doing it from Mika's point of view. I haven't made up my mind yet.

*For mhank. Here's your epilogue, mate! :)

* * *

Finn shook my shoulder, waking me up. I gave him a dark look and dragged myself upright. "Come on," he told me, face inexplicably lit up with excitement. He grabbed my hand and tugged me to my feet. "We're going on a date."

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since he'd told me he loved me. And now he wanted to go on a date. I stared at him speculatively before sighing. "Am I going to need my gun or my knife?"

Finn pulled up short, looking startled. "Neither," he reiterated slowly, "we're going on a _date_. Just you and me, hanging out together." As if saying it more slowly would clarify the topic.

I raised an eyebrow. Had he seriously forgotten about the last time? His puzzled look said he had. I crossed my arms. "Remember the last time you wanted to 'hang out?' We ended up taking on four Vetalas."

His lips puckered with thought, then he dismissed it. "Don't remember," he said shortly, proving that he did, in fact, remember. He grabbed my hand again, all excited. "Come on. We'll get dressed up. Go somewhere nice for dinner. We can even rent a movie if you want, your choice."

I perked up. "My choice of movie?" I asked in clarification, a wicked grin crossing my face. Finn hesitated, studying me warily.

"Yes?" he finally said, as if he was unsure about what he was getting himself into. That's right, boy-o, you should be nervous. Oh my gosh. I could choose The Notebook. Or maybe Titanic. That one was long. The stereotypical, torturous girlfriend options were endless!

"Okay. Dinner and a movie. I'm down."

Finn's face split in a broad grin, and it lit up his features. He looked like a kid for a second. I shoo-ed him out of the room, pausing by the door. "Pick me up at six," I told him. He nodded and walked a short five feet to the next door, opening it and giving me a little wave before going into his room.

A date. This was going to be fun.

I owned exactly one dress, thanks to the art show in Portland I'd gone to. It was sapphire blue and slinky, and it made me look like I was actually a respectable member of society. If I curled my hair and put on a little make-up, I might even fool people into thinking I was a proper lady.

I got ready fairly quickly. I wasn't one for primping. Finn knocked on my door at six, and I opened it. His jaw dropped, which made the burn I'd gotten on my hand fighting with my hair curler totally worth it.

"You look amazing," he breathed, looking kind of shocked.

"You're not too shabby, yourself," I commented. Finn was in a suit, and he'd showered and shaved. He was as handsome as ever. Of course, Finn was pretty much attractive all the time. The guy could be wearing athletic shorts and a ripped t-shirt, and he'd still look freakin' amazing.

He offered me his arm, and I took it, letting him escort me to my car. Finn had finally found his car. Well, parts of his car. The tires had been stolen, along with most of the engine, and the inside had been pretty much gutted.

Thankfully, Finn had built a safe under a false bottom in his trunk, so all his Hunting gear was safe. That was the only salvageable part of the car, though. I considered it no great loss, though Finn went on about it like he'd lost a childhood pet or something.

So we were stuck with my car. That was fine, though. I liked traveling around with Finn. It would have been weird to drive separate cars everywhere.

Finn opened my car door for me, and I climbed in. He hurried around and got in the driver side. Then he paused, looking confused. I rolled my eyes and dug in my purse for the keys. He accepted them with a sheepish look.

It was kind of nice not knowing where we were going. Finn had said dinner was a surprise. We pulled up in front of a fancy place. The parking lot was filled, and I could see tons of people seated both inside and outside the restaurant. It didn't look like there was any room.

As we waited, a well dressed server came out to a sandwich board that was set next to the canopied entrance. _Walk-Ins Welcome_, it had proclaimed in fancy calligraphy. He placed a magnetic sign over the front of it so that it now read, _Reservations Only_.

Finn chewed on the inside of his cheek and ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign that he was frustrated.

I glanced across the street, seeing a little diner. It was near empty. Plus a sign was in the window, promoting milkshakes. "Oh! Look, best milkshakes in town!" I told Finn, tugging on his arm and showing him.

He glanced over, his face folding into a frown. When his shoulders slumped, I felt his disappointment and tried to cheer him up. "Oh come on," I told him. "What could be better than burgers and fries? We can even split a milkshake."

Wordlessly, Finn turned the car around, and we drove across the street. Then, in our fancy clothes, we entered the diner and sat down in a big red booth. The waitress came over, slightly surprised at our apparel, but she took our orders nonetheless.

This was nice. I think the relationship between me and Finn had changed, but in a good way. He used to be so anally overprotective. But now, I think he realized that I didn't need him to protect me. I needed him to have my back, just like I would have his.

I even knew the moment he'd had the epiphany, because something between us had shifted. We were better together. Simpler, not so constricted. It was good. I liked what we had. I liked it a lot.

Our burgers came. They were great. We lit into them like a couple of carnivores. When the milkshake came, I introduced Finn to dipping fries in ice cream. He seemed slightly scandalized, but he eventually came around and seemed to enjoy it.

It was nice, seeing him loosen up.

Of course, even that didn't last.

A man walked into the diner. He had a pair of pantyhose pulled over his head. His lips and nose were comically smooshed, but it worked, I'd never be able to even begin to describe him to the police.

A gun came up and was trained at the unfortunate college waitress manning the cash register. I think he even barked something cliché as "Give me all your money."

Finn was out of his seat in a flash. He tapped the man on the shoulder and decked him when he turned. His hand shot out and clamped down on the man's wrist, twisting until the gun fell harmlessly to the floor. To top things off, Finn looped a hand around the back of the man's neck and brought the guy's face slamming down onto his rising knee.

The man slumped to the floor, never even knowing what hit him.

Finn turned back to me quickly, probably making sure I was okay. He started a little at the sight of my gun.

"What?" he huffed in dismay, straightening his bowtie and suit jacket. "Where did you even hide that?" Then his eyes sparked mischievously, and he seemed a little too interested in my answer.

"Shut up," I told him, before shoving him towards the door.

Finn threw down a twenty, and we left. "Did you see their faces?" I giggled all the way out to the car, thinking about the stunned expressions of the onlookers. It had mostly just been the cook and waitstaff. But still, their dumbfounded looks had been too funny.

Finn got behind the wheel, laughing a little himself.

We stopped at the video store. I grabbed a copy of the Notebook, knowing it would totally drive Finn insane. I also grabbed Star Wars, because after tonight, Finn totally deserved to see the classic, George Lucas masterpiece. On the way back to the motel, one or sometimes both of us spontaneously burst into laughter. It was hard not to, when thinking about the faces of the people. Us in our fancy dress clothes, taking down a robber and then leaving. It was good stuff. I almost wished I could have been on the outside just watching.

When Finn opened my door and helped me out, I kissed him. We settled back against the car for a minute, making out like a junior high couple. Then we broke apart, breathless and still laughing.

"I had a nice time," I told him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe next time will be different. I thought tonight would be normal."

I shrugged. "Normal is overrated. Besides, it's not really our thing."

He snorted at that, but he didn't disagree.

My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my small clutch. When I saw who it was, I lost my smile. A sudden sick feeling roiled in my stomach. "What's wrong?" I asked urgently as I took the call.

"Riley?" Mika's voice echoed and cracked over the phone. "I think I killed someone."

"Well, shit," I said. Then after a pause, I had the sense to add, "Get somewhere safe. We're on our way."

And that settled that.

Finn and I never did get around to watching the movies.


	10. Update

Sorry, this is not a new chapter. :( I just wanted to let you guys know that my next story is up and running. Woohoo!


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